Finding, Saving, Holding close
by Like totally - Wunderbar
Summary: Alfred has a Mission: He needs to save Arthur, too bad he doesn't know from what. All the clues he has are a couple fotos from an old penpal and a 5 years old text from Arthur. The more he searches, the clearer it becomes that finding Arthur doesn't mean saving him or holding him close, and yet hope is the last thing to die. eventual USUK, Warnings: toture, mental illnesses,
1. Chapter 1

_The beginning is kind of confusing, I know. Please keep reading though. This story is inspired by a creepypasta, not a common one, it deserves way more credit. If you feel like reading it, it_ _'s called Pen-pal. There will be UsUk, but since a lot of stuff happens when they are children the first half will be rather platonic. Warning for fluff! Not yet though..._

 _There will be a lot of hurt before comfort..._

 _On that note, I hope you enjoy! If you think I am writing in a way that is to much, please tell me. I'm not a really experienced and I need to get better._

 **Finding, Saving, Holding Close**

Back to were it started

?

Darkness. It is everywhere, not the slightest spark of light is to be seen. A thin blanket is my fortress, my saviour. Behind my fortress is another layer, but it remains untouched by time and by wind. It is beauty beyond sight, fascinating and cold, like that mythical queen of winter from a story I have long forgotten. As they say, there is beauty in everything, even in pain. I wonder who said that, I cant remember. Was it a song? Was it a book? Something they thought us in school?

I cant recall it. I have found out something, though. There might be beauty in pain and cold, in fear and in rage, but I have none of these behind my fortress. I have long lost _it_ , I don't know what _it_ is, precisely. Is _it_ a person? A thing? I don't know... _It_ is like a spark, like the air in a hot-air balloon. Something that keeps you of the ground, yet somehow encored to it. Yes, somewhat like an anchor.

Does that make sense? Do I ever make sense?

Maybe I should stop reasoning. I should stop asking questions, to keep myself sane. Or would that make me loose my mind?

I probably already lost the last bit of my mind, that I try so hard to keep. Maybe not thinking would spare me pain, not remembering would make me calm. I should stop tormenting hope. I should let it die in peace. I am selfish though, I have always been. As I said there is beauty in pain, in torture, even in death but there is no beauty whatsoever in numbness. For I have felt it and it is bringing me down. My fortress, spares me pain, somehow. Or maybe that is just in my head. I wouldn't be able to tell these two apart, truth and imagination. I am afraid what sort of pain is waiting beyond my safe little space on this bed, I know the numbness will kill me, though. I should move but I won't, I could but I can't. I chuckle slightly, It's all right. I'll die eventually.

* * *

Alfred F. Jones , year 2038

I am walking towards the entrance of my home. It have been 3 days of exhausting work until late in the night, at the police station. Not to say I dislike my job, but it's hard to keep going when you know that you are still miles away from promotion. I am only 21 years old, which means that I have only been working here for a year, since I started at 20. I don't expect them to make me chief of the department, of course, but I would like to have a high enough position to be able to look through the informations about missing people in New York. OK, so maybe that would require a rather high position, but still. It is the main reason I became a police officer, so no one can blame me for wanting to have a look. Most of my colleges know this, but they don't give me a hard time. I think they pity me. It's not like I am _only_ doing it for information! Being a police officer is the nearest job to being a hero, which is totally not a ridiculous dream, thank you very much. Besides I don't want the information for some stupid reason.

I open the door to my apartment. It's nothing special but a good place still. The rent in Manhattan is ridiculously high. I can only afford this place because my mom is filthy rich, sorry for the expression mom. I must admit that I feel slightly selfish letting her pay more than half my rent but the other to options aren't possible. One option would be to live on the street and that is fairly impossible when I am working, and the other is even more frightening, both me and my mom would agree, it would be to go live in our old house in Staten Island, the forgotten borough as some like to call it. The last one of the two might not sound so bad but it is, I would rather die than go anywhere near that place, it would most likely be the same.

I sit down on the couch and look at the clock, it's late and I still haven't eaten anything. I should have some Chinese take-out left in the fridge.

While I eat I think about my life some more. Jeez, I sound like an insecure 13 year old girl. Now is not the time for self pity.

I still end up thinking anyway, I don't need sleep.

Staten Island, I will never forget, I could never forget and some things I don't want to forget. Like my friends, friend, actually the best one I ever had, the first one, the most important one. I could go on like this forever.

I smile sadly, It's all so bitter-sweet. I won't forget my favourite playground either, or school. The nostalgic feeling immediately disappears. School. The pen-pal experiment. My smile falters.

I lie down on the couch, to tired to go to my bedroom. Somehow I end up like this every night.

I would need to start from the very beginning to explain everything in a way that makes sense.

I always do this, I close my eyes and try to remember my story, every night. I am not sure why. I can't let go because I don't want to let go. Does that make sense? Do I ever make sense?

* * *

It was the year 2023. I was six years old, which meant that I would soon go to school. Soon meant the next day, so I was literally glowing with excitement, a smile plastered on my face. I was as happy as any six year old boy would be, my mom had bought me a new backpack and I loved it because it had the justice league on it. I have always loved superheroes, she knew that. All my other stuff was superhero-themed as well. I was so proud of my school stuff that I already carried it with me wherever I would go, about a week before. It was childish, but I _was_ a child. Of course I felt a little anxious to. What if my classmates weren't nice? What if the teachers wouldn't like me? WHAT IF NOBADY THERE LIKED SUPERHEROES?!

OK, maybe those thoughts were a little stupid. I was a relatively normal boy. I wasn't bad looking, or overweight ( maybe a bit chubby ). I wasn't dumb either and my mom was well of, so I always had nice, new and clean clothes. The only thing that might have made me different were my glasses, but in 2023 glasses weren't ugly anymore. Maybe my love for superheroes was( and still is ) a bit abnormal, but I am sure nobody would have cared. Children love superheroes, after all.

On my first day of school, my mother drove me there by car. I still remember how emotional she was.

„Alfred, this is a very special day, but you don't have to worry. You're a wonderful boy, I am sure everyone will like you." She looked at me with slightly red eyes, like she was going to cry. I didn't get why she would cry on such a happy day, so I asked.

„Mom, Why are you sad?"

„Oh, honey I am not sad."

„Then why are you crying?"

She parked the car, then she looked at me once more. Her gaze was soft. „These are happy tears, Al, I am very proud of you" She murmured sweetly. Then she hugged me and kissed me on the cheek.

I frowned, I didn't understand how somebody could be so happy that they had to cry. Why? What did I do to make her so proud and happy?

„But I didn't do anything. How can you be proud of me?"

My mother gazed out of the window, she seemed so distant. I was afraid she wouldn't come back, so I grabbed her hand and held it. After a moment of thought her eyes were focused on me again and I noticed that tears were rolling down her face, sparkling like rare jewels, so I wiped them away with my thumb. I didn't care that they were tears caused from happiness, because they were still tears and I didn't want to see them on my mother's face.

„I could try to find a logical explanation. Like, that I am proud of what you will do in school. Or maybe it is because I am stunned how fast time goes by." She gave me a meaningful look and then said. „But, I think the real reason is much simpler. It's because I love you."

I think that was the first time I tried to comprehend love. And, oh, how much I loved my mom.

How much I still love her.

She hugged me once more and this time I hugged her back.

After that she led me to my class and we had a typical introduction lesson. After that, lunch. I was a bit nervous about it. What if nobody would sit with me? What if people would make fun of the amount of food I eat?

OK, so maybe I was very nervous. As I looked around the cafeteria, I noticed that I had made a mistake only standing there and not aproching anybody. The clicks were forming, as the tables filled and I felt hopeless. Approaching people in clicks was a lot harder than when they were alone. Maybe because they were superior in number and that made them more powerful, it was like an unspoken and yet so obvious rule. I was intimidated. I didn't know to which click I should go. I took a look at the different possibilities.

On one table sat a bunch of girls gossiping, the it-girls, a big no. On the table to their right sat a few more quiet girls and two boys that looked a bit girly, the smart ones, they were reading, I took that as a possibility, I already knew the alphabet! The table left to the it-girl table was probably the coolest one, it was the popular-guy table. It was obvious, all of the guys had Nike sneakers and jackets and I was sure they all did some sort of sport since they were talking about football. I also noticed that the girls looked at them and giggled. I could go there, but they all seemed somewhat intimidating.

Then I noticed there was one table left and to my surprise there was a guy sitting there, alone. I could only see his back, he had short blond hair and was wearing a sweater-vest. What kind of six year old wears a sweater-vest? I think at the time I was just curious about him, since he seemed weird and I was afraid of the other guys, as pathetic as it sounds. I never regretted it though.

I walked towards his table with my food tray and sat down next to him, trying desperately not to seem nervous.

He didn't look up from the book he was reading, so I couldn't see his face. Was he ignoring me? I coughed loudly trying to get his attention. No reaction. I cleared my throat. No reaction. I slammed my food-tray on the table. No reaction. I began to grow frustrated, so I decided to speak.

„Hey, dude, I know that you are very interested in reading that book...eh," I tried to read the title, which wasn't easy the way he was holding it. „ehh, Shakepear, or whatever that is. But it aint real nice to ignore somebody like that." I tried to scold him.

This time I did get a reaction. „Your grammar is atrocious." He said. But it wasn't what I had expected. I was rather pissed of, to be honest.

„Ya know, you're really ungrateful. I come here to sit with you because nobody wants to, obviously. And all you do is ignore me and criticize me!" I growled loudly and as intimidating as a six year old could. Maybe that was a bit mean.

The boy finally put down his book, then he sighed in defeat and looked up.

The first thing I noticed was his frown, it had a lot of effect due to his, well, ginourmous eyebrows. I mean, they looked so big, it was abnormal. As if his entire forehead was one big eyebrow.

He quickly noticed I was staring and murmured, „ Bloody git." or something like that, and turned his head away again, looking at nothing.

I started laughing heartedly, „Man, your eyebrows are huge! No, they're ginourmous!" I exclaimed.

He faced me again, his expression was unreadable. „Why thank you. You enlightened living being. I have truly never noticed that. Now that you have told me this incredibly amazing fact about my face, I think you might have changed my life forever!" He said, he was obviously being sarcastic. To bad I didn't know what sarcasm was.

„Uh, um, do you mean that." I asked dumbly. I was confused because his words didn't match the way he was saying them. As I thought about his voice I had to admit I really liked it, i didn't sound American and it made him seem smart somehow.

He looked at me as if I had grown a second head. „You do realise that was sarcasm."

I shook my head no, „I have no clue what that is."

„Bloody hell, you Americans are stupid. The lot of you. No, I didn't mean it. That's what sarcasm is about." Then he continued, „Now If you would excuse me, I will go back to my reading. I would say it was a pleasure to meet you, but it really wasn't."

„I'm sorry dude, it's just," I pointed at his eyebrows, „They are like-"

„Yes, I get it, trust me, people have told me before. My eyebrows are big, now if you're done laughing about them like the moron you are, would you care to leave me and my „ ginuormous",which isn't a word, eyebrows alone?" He looked offended and somehow sad, it reminded me of the time I called aunt Rosie fat and my mom scolded me for being mean. Damn, now I felt bad, so I decided to tell him the same thing I had told aunt Rosie to apologize.

„I think you are beautiful in a special way." I regretted these words the moment I said them, this wasn't my aunt I was talking to, but a boy my age, you didn't say that to another boy. I blushed, but felt a lot better when he was blushing to.

„Bloody idiot."

„Sorry." I didn't really know what I was apologizing for, but I felt l had to.

He just huffed. I looked at the clock, lunch break was nearly over and after that we would have one last „lesson".

„I think we started out in a way that wasn't right...So, my name is Alfred F. Jones and it's nice to meet you!" I held out my hand, so he could shake it.

„To bad I can't say the same thing about you." He said, but he continued. „My name is Arthur Kirkland." Then he took my hand and shook it firmly. I felt like a businessman making a contract.

I couldn't help but smile, I hoped he wasn't being sarcastic because his words didn't match his actions. Then he smiled back slightly. I was surprised at first because the smile made me feel weird, but then I just gave him a toothy grin. It was like a silent agreement not to talk about what had happened before.

As I went home that day, I was exited to tell my mom that I had made a friend. Arthur was my friend, right? Yes, yes he was my friend whether he wanted or not.

Walking past a brick wall, I heard a scream. It made my blood run cold. It sounded so familiar, but I wasn't going to chicken out, I thought of my self as a hero, so I had to help. Maybe it was a bit stupid.

I turned around to walk into the direction where the scream had come from. I looked around the corner silently and to my surprise there was Arthur( that explained why the scream had sounded familiar) and surrounding him were a three guys that looked at least two years older than him and where a lot taller. How unfair, I thought they were disgusting. Just then I noticed how small Arthur was, I was probably a head taller as well. I stood there and listened for a bit, I had no idea what else to do.

„Hey shrimp, give us your money or you will regret it!" Said one of them, he seemed to be the leader.

„I would rather not. Go get your own money, you utter moron." Arthur stated calmly, I found myself respecting him since then. He really had a stiff upper lip.

„Oh come on! Do you want me to beat you up or something? Dude you're British, I'm sure you are spoiled rotten. Now give my friend here the money or this will get uncomfortable."

„It is not your money. My mum worked hard to earn it and I won't let you have it." Arthur bit back.

„It seems we have no choice but to get it by force." At that, I started to panic. I knew I couldn't beat them on my own and I was fairly sure Arthur would not give them the money any time soon. I wished I had a phone, then I could have called the police.

I don't know how I had so much luck that an adult came walking my way that instant.

„What are you doing" He asked. He sounded worried. There was something about him that made me want to trust him, he just seemed like a really good guy.

I pointed to where Arthur was fighting with the guys and his eyes widened with realisation. Then he stepped in, the boys left Arthur alone and ran away immediately. Arthur and I thanked the man. I was glad Arthur had made it out mostly unharmed. Then he asked for our names, because he worked at our school and he would report the guys that had annoyed Arthur, so we told him. I have never seen him at school, though. Weird.

When we went home it turned out Arthur was my neighbour and that he had moved here all the way from England.

As we stood at his door I said.

„I was so scared when I heard you scream!" Then I chuckled, but I immediately stopped when I looked at his face. He looked confused and slightly scared.

„Alfred. I never screamed." Then he closed the door. A shiver ran down my spine.

At the time being I thought he simply wanted to sound manly, so I brushed it of easily.

Little did I know, that that was the beginning of the end. The beginning of my story, a shadow of horror to anticipate the shallow darkness that was to come.

My story. A story of bravery and of fear, of laughs and of tears. A story of gaining slowly and losing it all. A story of friendship that I will never have again. Or in a shorter and less sappy way, the story of why I need to find Arthur.

* * *

 _OK, this fanfic is very different from my other one, but this is actually the stile I usually write in. Like it? Hate it? Please review!_

 _Anyway, this is loosely based on the creepypasta „Penpal" but my storyline is completely different. If you like creepypasta please read it, it is my personal favourite. I plan to make this story a bid creepy, but only Alfred's back-story. Not his new life, that part will be slice of life and maybe a bit comedy, to lighten up the mood when things get depressing. *hides in corner and cries*_

 _Do you like the way I picture Alfred? Are there complaints? Let me know! Please!_

 _I am rather busy so I don't know how regular the updates will be but I will finish this story. Cross my heart and hope to- OK, maybe I am not that sure, I wouldn't fancy dying. So let me just give you a virtual pinky promise~_


	2. Chapter 2

_I_ _'m back! Thanks to the people that took time to read the first chapter!_

 _Warning : Some people might be offended by this chapter! Hatred of Justin Bieber and Donald Trump is ahead. Also, swearing! And there will be fluffy fluff to lighten the mood!_

 _Pssst, hey you, yes, exactly you that is reading this right now. I need to tell you something. I. Do. Not. Own. Hetalia. But keep it a secret!_

 **Finding, Saving, Holding close**

A reminder

Alfred F. Jones, year 2038

Stupid alarm clock, you were adopted, nobody loves you.

As I lie in bed I wonder how the hell I could have thought it was a good idea to make a Justin Bieber song my alarm clock, I mean not even teens listen to him any-more, he is hella out.

„Baby, baby, baby, ohhhhhh!" fucking idiot.

„Baby, baby, baby, nooooo!" Damn right no. Anyway, this is no time to regret my life decisions, I need to get out of bed or better get up from the couch, then eat and after that get to work.

I'd love to just lie here forever, so what if come a few minutes to late, I never get to do anything important anyway. The moment I close my eyes my _beloved_ alarm clock starts playing something new.

„We need to build a wall!" Oh hell no. I try to punch my alarm clock but it moves away quickly, smug little motherfucker.

„And the Mexicans will pay for it!" Sometimes having a an alarm clock with artificial intelligence really sucks, also I am positive mine hates me.

„OK, OK jeez. I am getting up right now. Just please, not Donald. I am begging you!" I plead as I get up.

Donald Trump used to be president of the United States of America when I was younger and he basically was the biggest joke of American politic. He nearly started World War III when I was four years old, OK maybe I am being a bit superficial saying it was only his fault, since Russia's and North Korea's leader's weren't any better, but since he was president of the country I live in he makes me more angry.

The good thing is that he isn't president any-more, the bad thing is he is still alive. He's 92 years old, it's unfair, so many great people died young and he of all people has to get old. Well, nowadays people can get extremely old thanks to a pill doctors invented in 2030, it slows down the ageing. If you are rich you can easily live 120 years. It's funny how scientists think getting super old is more important than solving world hunger.

„I know big words!" Oh, come on!

„Stop that, I am ready to go now." I say trying to get my alarm clock to stop torturing me with Trumps nonsense.

„Fine, Alfred. Now go to work, so I can be alone and don't have to worry about your rubbish." Says my alarm clock in an annoyed voice with a British accent. I chose that accent because it reminds me of Arthur even though his was way better. OK, so maybe it is kind of pathetic to try and replace someone with an alarm clock, yeah, really pathetic.

„You don't plan on going like that, do you?" I look down on me and realise I am still wearing the same pants as yesterday, I am so going to be late...

...

„Jones! You are late. Again." My boss says with his angry German accent, I can literally see him fuming. I am glad I am not the only one that is late for patrolling, you can always count on Feliciano to be later than you and get in more trouble. Maybe that is a bit mean, but whatever.

„I apologize mister Bleischmidt." I don't really mean it...

All I want to do is hang in here until I get promoted. It's not that easy since I will have to satisfy the German and that is nearly as impossible as impressing him. He simply does everything better.

Life sucks, I just know that today will be boring, like every other day. We will patrol around Manhattan, find a couple pick pockets and arrest them if we are lucky. Crimes aren't that common in America since people can't get their hands on a gun as easily any-more, ten years ago people wouldn't have thought that this would be possible and yet here we are. Our new president is very strict, he has made cars illegal in some parts of America, so that the environment gets healthier.

I know that it is a good thing, but I am not really sure if it really solved everything, the Mafia, for example is stronger than ever ,or at least one of my colleges said so. Anyway, there is no point in being worked up about it, it won't change any time soon.

„Al, It's time to go." My other co-worker,Toris, says. He is my only real friend here, hence the nickname

„Alright, let's do this guys!" I exclaim, trying to motivate the others and myself, Our group consists of four people :Ludwig the boss, who orders us around, Feliciano, Toris and I. We drive around Manhattan to solve the small crimes, which people tell us about via Bluetooth.

We enter the small electro-car and sit at our usual places. Ludwig on the driver-seat, Feliciano next to him, Toris behind the German and I next to him.

„Today we will be working outside Manhattan." Ludwig announces as he drives. Everyone looks at him. That's new, normally the only one who really listens to him is Toris.

„Where will we be going?" Toris wonders.

„Staten Island. Elevation of Charleston. A tree has been illegally chopped down and someone has been scooping a hole into the ground there. A neighbour noticed this and called us today. We have to do it since the police station in Staten Island lacks forces or better, has other things to do." Ludwig says in his usual stoic voice.

„Oh no! Poor tree! We have to save it Luddy!" Feliciano exclaims.

„Feliciano, do not-Jones are you OK!?"

„Alfred, what is wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

„Oh God, Luddy what do we do. Alfred is dying!"

„Calm down! Alfred, are you OK? What is wrong?"

„Al?"

„Jones?"

„Alfred!"

I listen to these persons calling my name, names, and wonder. How many names can one have? Are the names like a rating of what the person thinks of you? The more personal, the closer they are to you? What makes a name personal? It's just a word, and yet it is very important to us, to be addressed correctly. Why?

Why am I panicking? Why is my vision suddenly blurry? I just want to get out. Too many memories are coming back. Why does anyone ever panic? It won't help me, I know that. This thought doesn't calm me down, however. I just want to breathe. I just want to live. I need to get out. Why am I even here? How did I end up like this? Why do I have so many names? Who is calling me? And Why are they so loud?

„Alfred!" 1.

„Jones? What is wrong?"2.

„What. Is. Wrong. Al?" 3.

„Are you OK?" 4.

Four names.

The light is out.

...

„Hello Miss Kirkland!" I greeted the woman cheerfully, I had to make a good first impression, I was going to be her sons best friend after all. I needed consent.

Now that I am thinking back, it sounds like I wanted to date him, I hope nobody thought it was weird.

„Oh, you must be Alfred, the neighbour boy!" The woman said happily. I hoped she knew my name from Arthur, that would mean he talked about me to his parents and I liked that thought, though I didn't know why.

„Your mother came to say hello yesterday, she is a very fine woman. She told me about you, wee lad." There was that accent again, and lad? What did that mean? I guessed that English was a different version of American. Like the light version of an Iphone.

I can feel Arthur scolding me in my mind.

I must admit I was slightly disappointed that Arthur hadn't told her about me.

„You know," the woman continued, „I am quite glad someone Arthur's age lives here. He tends to lock himself in his room and read all day. He should do things other children do, like playing in the mud, or he might regret it some day and become unbalanced." She was rather talkative compared to her son.

„I love playing in the mud!" I exclaimed, because I didn't know what else to say, because it was true and because I wanted to make a good impression. I also didn't get what she meant by unbalanced.

She giggled. „ Jolly good, tell me what did you come for?"

„ I want Arthur to come out and play."

„He is upstairs, but he might not come if I go... You should go!" She explained.

„OK, Than-" I couldn't finish my sentence because of a loud red haired teen storming through the door.

„Where are you going?" Arthur's mom asked.

„Out."

„When will you be back?"

„Later."

She sighed in defeat, then she smiled at me and said. „ You know... puberty"

I just nodded quietly, because I didn't know. I had heard my mom talk about puberty before, she always said it was very exhausting and confusing. I used to think it was an illness, so I looked at Miss Kirkland and told her. „My deepest sympathy."

At that she laughed heartedly, I didn't know why someone would laugh about their son's sickness. I just laughed with her, because my mom once said that you should tell crazy people they are right, so they leave you alone. Then we went to Arthur's room.

...

„Alfred I refuse to sit in filth." Arthur told me firmly.

„I promise it's fun! We can build a fortress!" I tried to convince him.

„No."

„Please!"

„No"

„But, Artie, This is simply sand." I pointed at the sand in front of us

„Stop calling me that atrocious nickname instantly!"

„You're no fun!" I whined.

„Then get a new friend."

„You think of me as a friend." I beamed at him happily.

„I-I well, I just, I..." Arthur was somehow flustered by that, which meant he was distracted, which meant I could attack. I launched myself at the smaller boy and tackled him, so that we both landed on the soft, white sand. I started laughing loudly at his expression, it was a mix of surprise and pure fuming rage. I rolled to the side, that was fun.

„Jones, you have started a war." Arthur said, sounding _and_ looking ready to kill me.

We spent that entire day running after each other and throwing sand.

And after that time every weekend would follow, soon it was every day after school as well.

We would build fortresses and ships with the sand. We would sail the seven seas, fly through space and defeat dragons. Only to end up fighting and chasing each other. We never got bored, _together_ we were never bored, I felt that way and somehow, I am really sure Arthur felt so too. It _was_ special.

Of course, there are the darker memories too. Things people wouldn't pay much mind to. Little nothings, that had no meaning at the time but are like pieces of a puzzle, which are only terrifying together. Like this one thing that started since the first day I slept in my new room.

It was bed-time, in other words, I-am-afraid-time, or mommy-there-is-a-ghost- time.

I have always believed in the supernatural and I have always hated bunk-beds.

As soon as I entered the barely lit room I felt an inexplicable sense of dread and fear, however only when I had to go to sleep.

My room was big, just like the house. I had white walls, which were covered in posters of my favourite superheroes, on the parquet floor lied a blue carpet. In the corner nearest to my bed, which stood near the window, was my closet. I generally liked my room, but it managed to look somehow creepy when it was dark. The bunk-bed seemed so big and I hated it's shadow.

I walked towards my bed, climbed the ladder and went under the covers as fast as I could. As if my covers could protect me. I would always shut my eyes so I didn't have to see the darkness around me, as if to escape that little light, which came through my open door, always open, that was a rule. I thought my mom would shut it at night when I was already asleep, because when I woke up it was always closed.

I fell asleep rather quickly, because my mom would always leave the sound of the television on, to remind someone was there, I have a great mom. Sadly, I would always wake up at night, that night was the same.

I opened my eyes slowly and anxiously, I didn't want to look, but who can beat the curiosity of a child. Fear can't. I blinked a couple times, then I looked around. My room was pitch black, there was nothing, I could see nothing. I was sure the door was closed again, this caused a sinking feeling in my chest.

Then, I heard _that_ noise. It was the noise of the sheets on the bed under me being moved around, ruffled. Like someone had moved under the covers to sleep there.

It was followed by scratching against the slatted frame of my bed.

Oh God, the scratching. Have you ever had to listen to somebody scratching a blackboard? It sounded like that to me, it was loud and simply disgusting.

At some point it started snoring and I fell asleep. Of course you could say it was just the over-active imagination of a child. Lot's of children think there is a monster under their bed.

It would make sense.

But a long time later, when me and my mother talked about Staten Island and the past, she told me.

„I never once closed the door."

...

„Mister Jones?" A voice I've never heard before.

„Yes?" I answer, my voice sounds kind of hoarse.

„I am glad you are awake. You have passed out and your colleges brought you here. You are in a hospital."

„Oh." I answer dumbly.

„Do you remember why you collapsed?"

„You don't know? Aren't you the doctor?" I ask defensively.

„You don't have any internal problems. Your colleges told us you looked scared, so maybe it was a panic attack? What was the problem, maybe you have some sort of phobia that would explain it?"

„No." I answer lamely. I'm just fine. I smile at the doctor, trying to make it sound believable. I want to go home.

„Well, do you at least remember being afraid of something?"

„Everyone is afraid of something."

„Fine, mister Jones. If you think it's that unnecessary to look for the reason you collapsed, you are free to go home." The doctor said, mildly annoyed.

„Yes, thank you, doctor."

...

I didn't expect this day to end like this, I'm exhausted. As I lay down in bed for the first time in months, I feel that dread again. There are no sounds, no scratching, no ruffling, but the memories seem so alive.

Usually I am to tired to think about it, usually I sleep on the couch. Today isn't usually and I just noticed that my bedroom is incredibly dark and extremely cold. Like That night...

I woke up at night, like every night. But I didn't hear any scratching or ruffling. It was just quiet and cold. The window was open. Had I forgotten to close it?

I shivered and pulled my blanket closer.

Then, I felt it. That strange warmth that living beings emit. Right behind my pillow. Someone, something was standing there.

I closed my eyes tightly, like those kids that play hide and seek and think that if they can't see you, you can't see them.

Such a stupid strategy...

I decided to be brave and slowly reached for my neck, i didn't know why, I just felt I needed to protect myself.

I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, but all I could do was lay there in complete shock.

There was a hand that wasn't mine around my neck.

My eyes were still shut and I stopped breathing for a moment.

Suddenly the warmth was gone and I could hear footsteps. It was retreating.

After what felt like an eternity I fell asleep again.

Dumb choice, really, really dumb choice.

That night I woke up again. At first there was nothing off, but of course that didn't last very long.

I had just woken up so my eyes were unfocused, the fact that I didn't see well in general didn't help. I bliked myself awake.

Then, I saw it. Right above me. There was an arm reaching out to me, as if to pick me up.

Then I realised there was something under my back. Another arm?

I panicked, I grabbed the arm above me and bit it.

Both arms pulled back, it walked away slowly, then it was gone.

 _ **Now I wonder, what was it?**_

The next day, I looked horrible. I hadn't gotten any sleep after the second visit. My mom asked me what was wrong, I told her there was a monster under my bed, that entered through the window.

She pointed at the window, „Honey, the window is closed."

That day I asked Arthur to sleep at my place, for the first time.

I smile, Arthur, I wish I could ask him to sleep at my place today.

„Alfred, you look horrible! What have you been doing all night! Bloody playing video games?" Arthur scolded me the moment he saw me.

„No mom." I joke.

He just huffs.

„I wanted to ask you. Would you like to sleep at my place. It's Friday so..."

„Sure."

„Really?"

„Yes. Why would I lie?"

I hugged him.

„That's great, Artie! We'll have so much fun!"

„Call me that again and I won't come."

...

„Alfred, I refuse to share a bed with you." Arthur said firmly.

„You have to. The other bed isn't safe!"

Arthur sat down on the bed.

„Seems safe to me."

„No! You need to understand." I looked around the room as if to check if someone was listening to us. Then I whispered, „There is a monster sleeping under my bed."

A moment of silence, then a loud laugh.

„Alfred you absolute git, monsters don't exist." He was cracking up at that point.

I huffed defensively. „Why do you think I don't sleep..." I was kind of disappointed that my best friend didn't believe me.

At that he stopped laughing and looked at me. I looked at him sadly. The puppy look, i knew it wasn't fair, but I was too afraid.

He sighed dramatically, I already knew I had won. „Fine. I still think that's complete bollocks, but I will sleep in your bed. I will take the blanket and the pillow from the other bed, though."

I was so relieved. „ Thanks so much!"

„Just don't get used to it."

Arthur killed the light. I ran to the bed and climbed the ladder as fast as I could, while he followed me slowly. I was already under the covers, when Arthur was still walking towards the bed. He looked so calm and peaceful, while walking through the shadows. Then he climbed the ladder and wrapped his blanket around himself.

„Alfred, the door is open. Should I close it?"

„No!" I nearly screamed. The idea of Arthur, slowly walking trough the dark frightened me. So many things could happen.

„Calm down Alfred. Your shivering. I wont close the door if it matters so much." He stated calmly, but with evident concern in his silky voice.

„I'm sorry, It's just...the monster!" At that point I was hysteric. What had I done? I had dragged my friend into this! I was a horrible person.

„Al." He took my hand. **„Monsters don't do bad things, only humans do."**

I slept perfectly that night. Since then we had sleepovers twice a week.

* * *

 _This is it for this chapter. This time we have a somewhat fluffy ending!_

 _Do you like it so far? Any complaints? Any ideas?_

 _I have a plan for this story, but advice would be nice._

 _I think I'll add some LietPol...but if you have other wishes just tell me._

 _Do you like the puberty joke?_

 _I made 2038 a relatively nice time to live, because the main problem in this story will be that Artie is missing. I don't mean to offend anyone by making Alfred dislike Trump, I just didn't find a good reason to like him... OK I'll admit it I am not really sorry. I have lot's of friends in America that don't like Trump and I don't really agree with him either, but I don't mean to offend you, you are entitled to your own opinion._

 _Of course you are also allowed to like Justin Bieber as well!_

 _On that note, bye!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Here you go! A new chapter!_

* * *

 **Finding, Saving, Holding Close**

3\. On The Right Path

(Alfred F. Jones 2038)

As I walk into the office, I can feel people staring at me. I don't really mind the attention. It isn't negative attention, simply people wondering what happened yesterday and why I am already back. I can't help but wonder if some might be worried as well. It would be nice, maybe Toris is worried...

„Hey Tory! How're ya doing!" I try not to sound too awkward, but I fail miserably.

„Fun question for you to ask! I was so worried! Honestly, what was wrong with you? For a moment I thought you died, you crazy bastard! You can't be good already. Why are you here?"

I was really surprised, Toris isn't the kind of person that gets angry often, or yells at people.

„Whoa there! Calm down, dude! I'm fine and I am planning on working today." Of course I'll work, I can only get promoted if I work! Besides, as long as I won't have to go to Staten Island I'll be fine.

He sighs, „Well, I don't think I'll be able to do much about it. Today we have lot's of boring paper work..." Again...

„So, no patrolling?" I ask.

„None." Well shit, this is going to be an exiting day,huh. At least I can work with Toris... Maybe he'll tell me what happened yesterday in Staten Island.

„Gotta make the best out of it!" I try to motivate him.

„Yeah..." He isn't looking at me, he's staring at the air and smiling.

„Dude. You don't have to be that happy! You look like you're having daydreams about that paperwork." I joke.

He turns his head to me, a startled look on his face, followed by a slight blush. „What was that?"

„Listen when people talk, dude. It was nothing."

„Funny to hear that from you." He jokes.

„I just wanted to know. Yesterday, what happened after I was, well, out?"

He looks at me, his smile falters as if someone had slapped him in the face. „Oh,it was quite different from what we usually deal with..." he looks away from me and sits down on his chair.

„What happened?!" Shit, now I'm anxious. I take a seat as well.

He takes a deep breath. „We had to call for reinforcements. We arrested the guy. At first it looked like it was just some normal vandalism, but..." He shudders, „When we looked for the guy, who was our suspect, at first he didn't want us to come in. Once we _did_ enter...it was... _disgusting._ " His voice is now extremely low and shaky.

What did he mean? You can hardly arrest somebody because of a tree, right?

What happened? Why didn't I just come with them? What was disgusting?

„Please, continue..." I say, trying to sound calm. Inside I'm a screaming mess, just wanting to know so desperately. Or do I?

What if he'll tell me something I don't want to hear...?

„Alfred, I don't think you are in shape to hear this now. You're sweating and-"

„Continue." I cut him of. Curiosity kills the cat. I never cared for cats.

„Al, please. I know about your past... You don't want to have anything to do with it." No. No you don't. you may know that I am looking for somebody and some vague details, but you don't know about my past.

„I can decide what i want on my own, thank you very much."

„Fine, but please calm down. In that man's house, the living conditions were horrible. No electricity, no water and the smell was...really bad...So Ludwig and I were really alert. It-it smelled like death. Ludwig immediately knocked the man to the floor, Feli and I inspected the different rooms. One of the was locked and barricaded, once we knocked the door down...The room, there were pictures. Countless pictures."

„Pictures of what?"

There was a long pause.

„Pictures of children."

What? That was the reason Toris was terrified. Pictures...

Pictures of children...

I feel like laughing and crying at the same time.

„HAHAHAHAHA,DUDE!" I laugh loudly. „Why would I worry about pictures of children, it's so...just...ridiculous..."

„Al, please calm down...!"

„I am totally calm! Don't worry! I-I'm as calm as they get. HAHA, pictures. Well. I'm going to the bathroom." How...how...funny.

Toris looks extremely guilty and sad. I'll just smile so he stops that.

I walk to the bathroom chuckling.

I look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I splash water on my face and wash my hands. They are red with invisible blood, I need to clean them, I need to clean them, I need to clean them.

To bad invisible blood doesn't go away with water, only with time.

My body was once covered in invisible blood. It was everywhere. I used to take five showers a day, to get rid of it, but i noticed soon enough, that it made no sense to do so.

I simply wait nowadays.

I have waited for six years.

Now, all that's left is the blood on my hands. I don't know if it can be counted as a success. I'd love to be able to say, I've gotten better.

Will the blood vanish completely in a couple years?

Would my memories vanish with it?

Would that be good?

I hate how I have so many questions and such few answers.

I can't help but wonder about my past in moments like this.

Back then, when I still could have stopped it.

It was just another school-day in second grade. I sat down next Arthur, like always.

„Dude! I need your help!"

„Is it the English homework again?"

„Yes. I forgot..."

He sighs. „Whatever, just copy mine. This is the last time I help you Alfred!"

„Thanks! You're saving me."

„I guess." I knew that Arthur would let me copy again. No matter how often he said it was the last time. I did copy from him a lot, but I helped him with maths, so it wasn't like I was using him.

The teacher walked into the class with 25 red balloons. My mother had once explained to me that they can fly when they are filled with helium instead of air.

I was exited that day, happy that something out of the ordinary would happen. While Arthur seemed disinterested.

„Dear students, we talked about the pen-pal experiment, remember?"

Everyone nodded their head, some enthusiastically and some not.

„Well, today is the day you'll send your first letter!" The teacher tried to motivate us.

Little did I know, that it would be so much more than that.

That day everyone wrote their letter. It was nothing special, simply kids writing about their nationalities and hobbies, but it felt great to look for friends without having to directly approach them.

Then the moment arrived, we all stood on the school-yard, our letters were tied to the balloons, we waited for the teacher to give us the sign to let it go. I held my balloon tightly, I wanted it to reach somebody far away, that needed a friend, I wanted to make somebody happy and I was exited to get letters from that person, whoever they were.

The teacher gave us the sign. We let go of the balloons. Arthur was eyeing me critically, giving me that classical testing look, as if he knew. I wonder if he knew.

After that day, weeks passed. Arthur was the first one to get a letter, I was a bit jealous I must admit. He had to read the letter he had gotten to the class.

„Cher Arthur, I am glad to be your pen-pal. My name is Franzis Bonnefey." Some people laughed at the way Arthur pronounced the French words, but Arthur shot them his trademark glare, so they stopped. I knew for a fact that Arthur hated the French, so this was quite funny, but I was his friend so I wouldn't laugh. „I live in America, but I am originally from Paris-" Arthur paused and got slightly red, but he quickly regained his composure. „The city of love. I am nine years old. You said you like reading and baking, well, maybe I should teach you how to bake sometime, since English people are horrible cooks." Everybody started laughing, even I cracked up. Arthur on the other hand didn't seem amused at all, he was red with rage and as he walked to his seat he wouldn't even look at me.

Slowly everybody was getting their letter, I was the only one that didn't get anything. After two months I still didn't get anything, I was crushed.

After three months I got my first letter, but it wasn't what I'd expected.

The teacher handed me the letter and told me not to get disappointed, I told her I would like anything the person has written and she looked away guiltily.

I soon got why. My letter was empty, _blank_. The person didn't write anything. Then I turned the letter around.

There was a picture. It was blurry and unfocused, I thought it might be a street of some sort, but I wasn't sure. I was angry and frustrated. I crumpled it up and threw it into the garbage can.

I thought the pen-pal experiment ended there, but I kept getting more and more unfocused pictures. At some point I stopped opening the letters. I put the letters in my closet and didn't want to look at them.

In fourth grade, I looked at them again because Arthur was worried. It was simple, my stuff was disappearing, more specifically my notebooks.

„Arthur, I need your help."

„Did you loose another notebook?"

„I didn't loose it. I bet it was stolen."

„Nobody would steel a notebook of yours. You have a horrible handwriting."

„Hey! That's not true!." I pouted.

„We both know it is." he sighed, „Just look into mine for now..."

„Thanks Artie!"

„What did I say about that nickname you git!"

Arthur and I were friends, but we would often fight about little things, though we never meant it. I still remember the conversation we had on our way to my place that day.

„Alfred, I really am starting to get worried about you. How do you manage to lose your stuff so often?"

„I swear I didn't lose it!" I was growing frustrated. Why couldn't he believe me.

„I see... Al, could it be your not bringing them on purpose. Is school giving you a hard time?" I felt insulted. I knew he was just worried, but I couldn't help it, nobody seemed to believe me these days.

„Honestly! Why do you all have to think so lowly of me! I already told you, I don't know where my stuff is. Why wont you believe me? I thought you were my friend." Today I know it was childish, but back then I was just a kid.

Arthur sighed again. „ Fine, sorry for being worried. If you don't hide them and you don't lose them. How come they disappear?"

I felt bad for yelling so I didn't look at him and suddenly found my shoes very interesting. „Sorry..." I mumbled.

„It's OK. I get why your frustrated. I know you wouldn't lie to me. I actually have kind of an idea what could have happened..." He looked at me mysteriously.

I smiled at him, glad that my best friend believed me.

Later that day we sat in my room and Arthur revealed his idea.

„Alfred, I think you might be haunted by a mythical creature." He said firmly, as if nothing about it was ridiculous.

„Ehm, is that a joke?" I asked him, hoping that it was. I did believe in the supernatural, but not to that extent. „ I thought you didn't believe in ghosts?"

„Not a ghost, silly. A real mythical creature, like a unicorn."

I tried my best not to crack up. A unicorn, really?

Arthur noticed how I tried not to laugh and slapped me.

„Dude, do you really believe a unicorn is haunting me?"

„No, you utter moron! That was just an example and I'll have you know, unicorns exist!"

„Have you ever seen one?" I couldn't help but be curious, since Arthur seemed so sure.

„Yes, I have. I have seen many. I also saw a couple of fairies and a flying mint bunny!"

From that moment I was hooked „Dude! That's so cool! What do you think is haunting me?" I was exited, it seemed like a quest. I felt like I was the hero that had to stop the evil mythical creature.

„Well, I'm not sure, I do however have my book on magic and mythical creatures with me, we will have to do some research!" So Arthur and i started to look into the book.

„It might be a leprechaun!" I suggested, „They can put curses on you, so maybe it cursed me?"

„I'm don't think. They don`t really steel, so I'm unsure. Besides, if they wanted to curse you they wouldn't make the curse something that stupid." He pursed his lips, „Al, do you have any enemies?"

„Not that I know of. Why?"

„Well, maybe somebody got a bakru to steel your stuff."

„What's a bakru?"

„It's a gnome-like creature, half flesh half wood. You can get them to do your dirty-work..."

„Hm, might be. Though I don't think I have any enemies..."

„You never know. Let's just hope it isn't some sort of demon, that could get dangerous."

„You think it could be a demon?!"

„There are a lot of demons, maybe I'll find one that steels...Oh, wait I think I have something..." Arthur gulped.

„Arthur, What did you find?"

He looked a bit scared, „Well, this would send us on a completely different direction. It could be an Akem Manah...That's a demon that makes people stop fulfilling their duties, he basically makes your mind turn evil, His name means exactly that „mind made evil" If we are dealing with a demon we will have to do an exorcism..."

I looked at him in shock. „You mean, I could be possessed by a demon. Oh God! What should I do!"

„Calm down. We are just counting our possibilities. Hey, let's continue this tomorrow, It's late, I want to sleep."

„Dude! How can you think of sleeping! I-I might be possessed by a demon."

But Arthur had already climbed into bed, he slept on the lower bunk. I was OK with it since I hadn't heard weird noises in years.

I walked to my closet to get my pyjamas, as I took them the closed letters from second grade fell to the floor, I didn't care to pick them up.

I looked at Arthur, who had already fallen asleep. I smiled fondly, then I killed the lights and exited the room.

I changed in the bathroom, I already knew I wasn't going to get any sleep that night. I was simply too afraid. I didn't want to be possessed by a demon.

After deciding that I wouldn't sleep, I went to my mom's room.

She was asleep and I thought she looked beautiful in the pale moonlight, watching her breathe steadily calmed me down, so I snuggled up to her.

I wondered how she didn't feel alone in her room, it was big and empty. Why wasn't my father with her... I wasn't disappointed, I never even met my father, but I felt bad for her. She always slept in that empty room, in that empty bed.

I had Arthur, but she only had me. It made me sad.

She started to stir at some point, then she opened her eyes and smiled at me softly.

„Honey, why are you here?" She asked quietly.

„I can't sleep." I whispered back. I didn't know why we had to whisper, but it felt like we should. „Mom, Arthur said I might be possessed by demon. He said he's seen a unicorn, so what speaks against demons existing..?"

She looked at me sadly and sighed. „Maybe it's time I tell you a little thing about Arthur. On the condition you wont stop being friends with him because of it and you are not allowed to tell him I told you this."

She held her pinky towards me. „Pinky promise?" She asked.

„Pinky promise." I told her. I would never stop being friends with Arthur.

„OK. So, months ago, Arthur's mother and I talked about this. You see Arthur is sick-"

„Is he going to die!?" I asked frantically.

She chuckled, „No. It's complicated. You know, his sickness doesn't really effect his body it is something with his mind. Arthur sees things that aren't there. It started in second grade I think. It's called Psychosis. Arthur hears and feels things that aren't real, but only sometimes. You don't need to worry."

„So it's like having an imaginary friend?"

„A bit, but it doesn't go away as fast."

„How can I help him?" I was confused, why did Arthur never tell me anything? I was his best friend, of course I needed to know when he was sick! I wasn't angry, I just wondered why he didn't trust me.

„Arthur has a doctor to help him, his case isn't to bad. I bet he'll get better." My mother explained.

„Can Arthur see bad things too? I mean seeing unicorns and fairies doesn't sound to bad."

„Yes, we-" She was cut of by a scream. To be more precise. It was Arthur screaming. I was terrified.

What had happened? My mind went back to first grade when I thought there was a monster under my bed. My heart was racing and so was I, I needed to save Arthur. My mother followed me, she was running as well.

What I saw when I entered the room was terrifying. The floor was covered in open letters and Arthur was sitting near the closet rocking back and forth and looking terrified. We didn't even look at the pictures, we just went up to Arthur.

He was crying and mumbling things we didn't understand.

My mom got closer to him and asked him, „Arthur, dear, what is wrong?"

Arthur's response was a nod towards the pictures and a shuddery breath. My mother started looking at the pictures.

She let out a shuddery breath, as if she was trying to gain composure „Al. Were are these pictures from?"

„The pen-pal experiment. I didn't open them since they were always blurry."

„Not blurry..." Arthur mumbled.

I took one of the pictures and looked at it. There were leaves as if the person taking it was in a bush.

Then I saw it. I froze. It was a picture of _me_ on my way to school.

I walked around the room. The pictures became clearer and clearer, as if the person had gotten closer to me.

My mom was looking at the pictures, like she wanted to kill somebody.

„On every single picture..." Arthur whispered.

I walked towards him and hugged him close, later my mother joined us. We stayed up all night, drinking hot chocolate and tee.

The next day Arthur and I slept on the couch.

I think that was the day I finally realised something was wrong. My mom did too, she informed the police and gave them all the pictures. I didn't understand what was going on, but I knew something wasn't right.

I splash water on my face one last time. Pictures of children. I am quite familiar...

I walk back to the office and start doing my paperwork. Toris is looking at me like he's seen a ghost.

„Toris, what was the houses number?" I say, smiling.

„45a, I think. Why?" Toris said hesitantly.

I looked at him. Then I looked back at my paperwork. I did it silently. Now I have a start.

* * *

?

I wonder why everything is so loud. Everywhere. Above me, under me, next to me, inside me. Everything. I can feel the ground vibrate. I can make out that it's more than one. Maybe four. I can't see them from down here, but I can feel their presence. Down here. Up there. I never believed in the afterlife, I think. In hell, in heaven. What can be worse than being alive? They're leaving again. They're screaming, like demons.

As they leave, they take.

Nobody ever leaves without taking something.

It's natural.

I wonder how much longer I'll have to wait.

Not that I could know.

There is no time in this room, neither is there space.

The air is thick.

Used.

And my fortress is facing defeat.

It's cold.

I wonder if I will ever hear them again.

I already miss their screams and their footsteps.

They seem so alive.

I wonder if I ever used to walk like that.

Freely in space and in time.

I think it's time to get up, soon.

Time to prove myself wrong.

But I only ever deem thoughts.

* * *

 _Well, this is it for this chapter! I hope you like it!_

 _Also, I am not extremely good with mythology. I just got everything from the internet. Feel free to correct me._

 _Arthur sees unicorns. I just had to put it in this story. But the fact that Arthur has a psychosis isn't at all funny. It's a serious psychic disorder, there are many types of psychosis, but I thought that Alfred's mom wouldn't explain it to Alfred in to much detail, because children usually don't really understand psychic disorders very well._

 _I know it might be weird that Arthur overreacts so much when he sees the pictures, while Alfred's mother stays so calm. I personally think she put her feelings aside to help the children calm down._

 _You might have been wondering who the question-mark person, that appeared in the first chapter is. Well they're back. It might or might not be completely obvious who they are._

 _Alfred loves his mom. I hope you don't mind. He doesn't have a father, how protagonist-ish~_

 _Toris blushed this chapter, is he in love? Maybe? I already told you there would be Lietpol so...*shrugs*_

 _That's all from me, bye!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello you beautiful people! Are you alone tonight~?_

 _OK, jokes aside._

 _I am really happy that people read this story and I want to thank the wonderful reviewer. You made my day! I am so glad you read this sweet abomination and liked it._

 _I nearly jumped when I saw I had a review, that is a lot coming from a German, though I think it was the Italian part of me coming to life._

 _„Hey, open this letter." *hands you the letter*_

 _"I don't own Hetalia."_

 _*mysteriously disappears in the shadows*_

* * *

 **Finding, Saving, Holding close**

Home Sweet Home 

(Alfred F. Jones. 2038)

It's two am, cold outside and I am having a not so casual trip to Staten Island. I am taking public transport, since it's early it isn't crowded. I decided to dedicate this weekend to my biggest fear, since I got a bit more information about the house out of Toris.

He never showed me a picture of the criminal that was arrested, but I don't care.

I am currently sitting in a train, it's quiet and peaceful. This leaves me with time to look out of the window, at the trees passing by. Later I will pass an underwater tunnel. I notice how my breath condenses on the cold glass and I feel the need to write something. I do it automatically, not thinking about what I'm writing.

I look at the word I wrote and feel like breaking the window and destroying The evidence. My mind is playing tricks on me, again. Nowadays, I think that's my minds favourite pastime.

 _I have seen this before,_ I think, and the flash-back starts.

In sixth grade. I had forgotten all about the pictures. I didn't have a lot of worries, back then and I still had Arthur. We never stopped being friends, even though we were so different. Arthur was the perfect student and was elected as class president, though I think it was simply because the other students didn't want to do extra work as much as he did. While I was starting to go more and more into the direction of popular jock, sure, I was still a kid but there was a football team for sixth and seventh grade, too(Or as Arthur liked to remind me, American football)

We both had other friends in school, but we would still always sit together for lunch and spend our breaks talking to each other.

We simply had something, that we couldn't have with others. We knew everything about each other. From every single bad dream to all the embarrassing stories our mothers liked to tell.

Obviously, some of the people in school noticed how much time we spent together. Some people would tease us about it, calling us gay or boyfriends. It wasn't an insult, it was more like a way of teasing, but it was never extreme.

„Jo! Artie, man! There is this real cool river near Elevation of Charleston. Would you like to go swim there? It's, like, super clean and stuff. Please." I tried to convince my friend the fifth time that week.

„We don't even know if it's legal."

„You only live once, Artie!"

„And I'd rather not get arrested while I do." He bit back.

„Oh come on! What is your problem? Can't you swim?" I joked.

He looked at me terrified, as if I had discovered something unholy, but that expression didn't last very long, it was replaced by an embarrassed blush. „Of course I can swim you git..."

„You're lying." Arthur was a horrible liar.

He sighed. „Fine. I can't swim. So what!"

I chuckled.

„It's not funny!" He protested.

„It is. There is no need to worry Arthur! I, the hero, will teach you how to swim!" I announced happily.

„Not in a river! That's dangerous!" He complained.

„Of course not, we'll go to a swimming pool. I'll teach you there! I wouldn't let anything hurt you." Now that I think about it, that was a stupid thing to say. I always let everything hurt Arthur.

He looked at me and I just knew I had won. „Fine." He gave in, after sighing loudly.

After that day we would practice swimming every week, until that one faithful night.

It was late and I just wanted to sleep. I was 12 years old, so I obviously didn't fear the dark anymore.

I took slow deliberate steps toward my bed, since I no longer feared the shadows around me.

I walked sleepily in the night, like a sheep, following only my instinct to sleep, as I ever so slowly made my way to the bed.

Like Arthur always would.

Step after step, through the darkness around me. I had no reason to be afraid. I didn't have to panic.

I climbed the ladder and hugged my blanket tight, not using it as a blanket but as a cushion. I was glad I no longer felt the need to wrap it all around me like an armour and I was glad I left the window open, so a soft breeze could reach me.

The wind stroked my hair softly and I fell asleep.

I was safe.

I thought.

I woke up with a feeling of wetness. I couldn't possibly have wet the bed.

As I blinked I noticed something. It hit me like a truck and tore me off my feet.

I was not in my room.

Do you know that feeling, where suddenly all you can do is panic?

Those moments where you just feel like somebody is watching you?

Like you know something is going to happen?

When you feel completely lost?

Your ears are a hundred times more sensible and even the slightest sound can make you die?

I felt that. I had died a million times in a million ways in those couple seconds, or minutes, I can't remember.

I had no control over my imagination.

Yes, I truly think ones mind is ones biggest enemy.

I was in an empty park. On a warm, rainy summer's night. I had no idea how I had gotten there but the rational part of me had given up anyway.

I looked around.

There was a swing and and some sand. Then there were lot's of trees, surrounded by grass.

I had never been there, so I was terrified.

So far nothing had happened, but I had the feeling it wouldn't last.

I heard something move in a bush, the ruffling of wet leaves reminded me of the ruffling of sheets I had heard under me so long ago.

Then there was a flash, like those times I'd see a lightning when there was no storm. Followed by a click.

I ran. I ran. I ran. I never stopped running, I ran fast but it felt slow. Sometimes I feel like I'm still running. Dragging my feet across wet grass, desperately.

Running through the dark is so different than pacing. The faster you run the more scared you get. I don't know why, but that's the way it was, _is_.

I didn't know where I was going. Like always in my pathetic existence, I had no idea where to go or where I was going. That run mirrored my life.

I was always running. I am always running.

I passed Elevation of Charleston at some point, I passed the river.

Knowing where I was didn't give me comfort, though.

I was still being followed.

Only as I ran towards the entrance of my home I felt slightly better.

I rang the bell like a crazy person, so often, so loudly.

The door was slowly opened, i expected my mother and hugged the person in front of me.

As I noticed it wasn't my mother I screamed loudly.

„Honey! Stay calm, it's just a police officer!" My mother said hugging me tightly.

„What ha-happened?" I asked, sobbing uncontrollably.

„Your mother woke up hearing a strange sound, then she found a letter from you that said you were leaving because you hated this place. The handwriting was exactly like yours." The police officer said, thoughtfully.

„I-I didn't...I!" I tried to defend myself, I hadn't written that letter. I was sure of it. I'm still sure.

My mother shushed me. „I know. The first time I read it, I was sure it was yours, but after reading it again I noticed the mistake. It was signed with „Alfred Jones". You never sing like that, You always sing with „Alfred F. Jones". Then I knew my baby didn't write it."

At that point tears were streaming down her face as well.

It was after that incident, that my mother decided that we should move to Manhattan.

I wasn't happy with that decision and it was horrible that I had to leave Arthur.

The day I told him went a lot different than expected.

It was one of those weekends were he would sleep at my house. The last one in that house but he didn't know yet, i just never found the courage to tell him before.

„Hey, Arthur. There is something I need to tell you. I-I actually have been meaning to tell you this for a long time..."

Arthur looked at me, shocked. I only realized then, how much it sounded like a love confession.

I blushed. „ Arthur, I-I'm going to move away."

I was expecting screaming, arguing and anger but i got none of that.

So I continued. „The day after tomorrow, I'll be gone."

Again, there was no screaming. Arthur meekly smiled at me. A fond look on his face, then he sighed. „Well, I guess that's how life goes. Some people move, some people stay. It might be a bit sad but it's no big deal."

I looked at him wide-eyed „But-"

„It's not like we can't meet, Alfred. Manhattan isn't that far away. I'll visit you, you're not just getting rid of me just yet." Arthur stated.

It made me happy to know he wasn't angry and that our friendship wouldn't end there. However the next thing he said shocked me.

„Alfred, you have been teaching me how to swim for a while now. I was thinking. What if we just go to Elevation of Charleston tonight? You know, like our last adventure here!" I hadn't told Arthur the reason as to why I was moving in the first place and I still regret it.

„Wha?!"

„What? Is Alfie scared of the dark? Want me to sleep in your bed?" He questioned cockily.

„Pft! What? No!" I tried to sound confident. „Let's go through the window, so my mom doesn't notice."

„Sounds like a plan." Arthur agreed.

I wish I would have told Arthur the truth.

...

( later that night)

The walk to the river wasn't really long, so when Arthur and I arrived we weren't exhausted.

The air was warm and you could see the stars perfectly. It was a beautiful night.

We took our clothes of, so we were wearing only swim trunks. Then we put the clothes down near a big tree, so we could find them easily, if it would get darker.

We went into the water, slowly, since it was freezing. I took some of the ice-cold water into my hands and threw it at Arthur.

„You have started a war Jones!" He said. It made me feel nostalgic, because it was the same thing he had said so many years ago.

We chased after each other in the level water. It felt perfect.

Too bad all the perfect things in my life go wrong.

After a while I felt cocky, so I swam towards the deeper water. Where the current was strong.

A really dumb idea.

The current was way to strong and it was leading me farther and farther from the tree were our clothes laid and from Arthur. How ironic?

Arthur ran in the flat water, trying to get near me, he was holding a long branch into the water, so I could reach it.

I don't know how, but it worked and Arthur got me out of the water.

As I looked around, a feeling of pure horror flooded trough me.

I knew exactly were I was.

There was a swing and a lot of trees surrounded by grass.

I looked at Arthur and hugged him close, I didn't know why I did it. I guess I thought he'd protect me.

„Al, are you OK?" Arthur asked calmly but with a worried undertone. Then he scolded me. His voice seemed like the most beautiful thing in the world, because it was saving me from the silence.

I was shaking, but I knew it wasn't because of the cold water.

„Arthur, w-we need to go! Thi-this place is dangerous!"

„Al, calm down. I know this place very well."

I looked at my friend in horror. He seemed calm, he wasn't even shaking from the cold.

How could he know this place?

„I used to meet one of my, well, imaginary friends here. You know, the psychosis and all." he said dismissively.

I swallowed, as a scenario formed in my head. What if Arthur's psychosis wasn't real and all this time the persons he'd talk to were actually there.

Or was I going crazy?

„No. Arthur, you don't understand! I swear i saw somebody here. We aren't safe!"

„Oh, Alfie." A smile formed on his lips, it was one I had never witnessed before. I was cloying, or dare I say it, insane. „It's all in your head. It's just a psychosis."

I think I never took Arthur's problems seriously enough.

Could I have helped him?

I was terrified. Not of the cold. Not of the darkness. Not of whatever was chasing me.

I was scared of Arthur.

„I still think we should go. I'm cold." Lie number one.

„Ok." Arthur went back to his normal self as we ran to the big tree.

Our clothes were gone.

We ran to my house. On my way, I kept seeing flashes and hearing clicks.

While Arthur didn't say a thing.

We managed to get home early enough for my mother not to notice we were gone.

That night I knew I wouldn't sleep. Even though Arthur was on the bed beneath me.

I didn't ask him to share my bed either.

„ _Monsters don't do bad things, only humans_ do."

Arthur had said it so many years ago.

My suspicion was going into a new direction. It was wrong and I hate myself for it.

I was just a child and I was terrified.

The day I left, I had heavy boots. I would miss Arthur.

I sat in my room, the walls were naked, stripped of everything that made it my room. So it wasn't really my room. It was just a room.

I looked out of the window, at the house of the Kirkland family. I smiled sadly as I watched Arthur and his mother exit their home, on their way to a psychologist.

Arthur turned around and we locked eyes, like we would so often.

He turned his head to his mother and told her something.

Then, he ran to my window and hastily wrote something on the glass with his finger. He smiled at me brightly and waved goodbye.

I couldn't see what he had written. So, when we were about to leave our home forever, I ran to my window one last time. I breathed against the glass.

My breath condensed on the glass, bringing the lost letters back to life.

RUN

He had written, the word felt like a stab in the back. Three letters of pure horror.

RUN

I have written, today. Not thinking about the consequences.

Back then, I watched my home as my mother drove.

45a I read the sing attached to my old house.

A house of memories, of friends and of fears.

I'm coming back.

Home sweet home.

* * *

 _Well, this chapter is a bit shorter, I hope you don't mind to much. I was originally planning to publish a longer chapter next week, but I got a review that motivated me to write something and give it to you wonderful Hetalian's today._

 _I hope you enjoyed it, if you have any tips on how to get better. Please tell me~_


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello from the other siiiiiiiiidde! OK. That was weird, let_ _'s forget that._

 _I wont bother you with my rambling today!_

 _Here is the new chapter!_

„ _Oh, and one thing". *smirks* „I am secretly Hidekaz Himaruya! Hetalia is mine!"_

 _*everyone gasps in shock* „really?!"_

„ _Nope!"* laughs evilly*_

 **Finding, Saving, Holding Close**

A Train To Hell

The train isn't completely empty any more. There are a few people besides me, most of them are elderly people but there are some families with kids too.

A woman is currently reading a story to her son, something about a prince being a princess's hero.

I smile, I used to love it when my mom read stories to me, especially those with heroes.

The only thing that always seemed to bother me, was that the stories were all the same. There was the hero, who was perfect and the villain, who was always exaggeratedly horrible.

Everything was always so black and white.

The real world is different, most of us are grey.

As I know there are hundreds kinds of grey.

So, nothing is ever black and white.

„...And so, everyone lived happily ever after." the woman concluded.

Happily ever after...

Why do we always lie to our children?

It starts with Santa Claus, the Easter bunny and stories. Later it's the movies and in the end, the politicians.

Would anyone ever judge a mother that reads stories to her kids? Hardly.

If you really think about it, though. It's simply lying.

We are so used to lying, that it doesn't seem abnormal, so used to being lied to.

Too used to it, if you ask me.

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if we'd never even started to lie.

Telling everyone about the ugly truths from the beginning.

We would be used to them. They wouldn't shock us.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much.

I look at my watch, it's been an hour. Another hour to go. I completely forgot how long this ride was.

Maybe because I didn't take it really often.

Usually Arthur would always be the one to visit me, not the other way around.

I actually don't remember why.

What I do remember, however, is the way Arthur would always say it was no problem during my first year in Manhattan.

We stayed close that year, he would visit me on the weekends and chat with me on the phone.

But even then I felt as if we were drifting apart. It wasn't something one could easily notice. Just small changes of behaviour.

Less touches and more fights, that could be easily explained by the fact that we were both hitting puberty.

Our conversations would become more and more basic, until they seemed like senseless small-talk.

Daily texts and calls became weekly and monthly.

I still remember his last visit.

„Hi Arthur, it's been a while!" I told him, trying to look away from the more present bags under his eyes, the paler complexion and the dull green that replaced the forests that once were his irises. Every time these things would get more present and yet, I didn't pay it much mind.

„I guess it has." A cold emotionless voice, bland and dead like his expression.

No hugs, no jokes, no laughs.

We had grown apart.

I was a jock, wearing my real Gucci shirt, matching my fake smile.

No more superheroes, no more childish things.

He was a punk, hearing that loud, full music, matching his empty gaze.

Can a living being run out of life, before dying?

We shared no secrets that night, we shared no stories, neither did we renew our ties.

We had no strings attached to each other and in that moment, he was no different from my friends at school.

Fake.

I can't blame him, I didn't try to change it.

As he left the next morning, the only thing I was worried about was that I wasted a weekend.

I didn't care to walk him to the station, I didn't care to wave him goodbye.

He walked out the door, that day.

„See you." I lied, smiling.

He silently mumbled something I didn't quite catch.

„Goodbye." He said, he looked over his shoulder, as if we were being watched. Then he smiled a tiny, crooked smile and handed me a letter.

After that, he just walked away, never turning back.

I read the letter.

 _I'll an my rain too the will. fell who mind you too. Ruin_.

Back then, that was the final proof that Arthur was insane. Today I desperately try to make sense of it.

I have tried changing all the first letters, using a mirror and all sorts of ways to solve this riddle and have come to the solution that it must be a random order. But why?

What did he want to tell me?

Was it a clue?

„ _We will always be best friends." We_ had said, when we were little.

In the end that was an empty promise. You never keep the friends from grade school.

When I was fourteen, I realised that what Arthur and I had was not spacial at all.

I didn't see Arthur at all that year, maybe you could say I wasn't thinking of him. I had other things on my mind and yet once my fifteenth birthday came, I really felt like I should invite him.

It was a ritual and maybe, just maybe I could renew our friendship or at least start having a little more contact.

My stupid teen self didn't care enough to actually visit.

I wonder why.

Was I thinking I'd eventually see him?

Did I forget how much history we had?

Was I simply an idiot?

I don't know. I do think however that you only ever start to really miss something when you loose it.

If I had the chance I'd do it all again but sadly that isn't possible.

I wonder if there will ever be a time-machine. If yes, I know what I'll do.

Happy ever after.

Maybe there could have been one...

Maybe there could still be one...

I remember the day it all went down the drain.

I was making invitations for my fifteenth birthday, I sent them to my friends by text.

I still remember how my thumb hovered over the send-button for at least a minute, before I actually sent it.

 _Hey, dude, I was wondering if you wanted to come to my birthday-party. I would appreciate it if you'd respond soon. Thank you!_

1st July.

It was short and simple. Not like i hadn't seen him in a year.

Not like I missed him.

Back then I thought that was the reason why he never responded.

He never even read it.

I can't say I wasn't disappointed, I was.

I tried not to let it get to me, I just thought he didn't care about me any more.

Before I received _that_ text.

How could I be so wrong.

Thinking he didn't care, thinking I didn't care

It was the fourth of July, my birthday. It was already late, me and my friends were playing video-games and I casually looked at the time, on my phone, or at least that was my plan.

I was shocked when I read that I had a message from Arthur.

 _Dear Alfred, I have been meaning to contact you for quite a while._ _I am sorry for my last visit, I didn't mean to b ecold, lisden i have tbe fadst and aI swish i could use proper grammer but ibneede tio tell sypou i care afror you and i hoeyu5r sate happey bithrfday , giodby ,._

 _arthur_

4th of july.

His grammar grew more and more incomprehensible with every sentence, as if he had to be fast, as if he was being chased.

That night, life caught up with me.

I wasn't in a good place the rest of that night, nervous, uncertain, fearful, guilty.

I didn't know what had happened, yet.

I was restless and even though I hated the thought, I knew that I had to go to Staten Island.

I went there the next day, skipping school. I took this train for the first time, a train to hell.

I looked around as I walked through my old neighbourhood. I was awed at how much it had changed, most of the houses that once belonged to elderly people were now up for sale or completely gone.

The once very well-kept gardens were wild and I didn't know one person that walked by.

As I passed my house, my step instinctively got faster, I didn't want to see it, too many bad things were linked to it, too many painful memories.

I was on the doormat to Arthur's house, only then I realised what i was doing. I was at a friends house, who I hadn't visited in forever. During school hours, trying to see him.

That made no sense at all.

It was stupid and unlike me and yet I knew that I had to go.

I only needed to knock once.

I heard someone yell „That better be you, Arthur. Yer fecking wanker!"

Arthur's brother, Allistor, opened the door.

He looked at me thruogh narrowed eyes, „What do you want?" He asked sharply.

„I, well, I got a text from Arthur yesterday and it was strange, so I needed to see if he was OK." I said awkwardly.

„Oh really? I didn't see you here in quite a while, it's hard to believe you care." If looks could kill I would have died that day.

„I know..." i mumbled guiltily.

„Hey! Who is down there?" Another voice called from inside the house. Then I heard footsteps, running down the stairs, another one of Arthur's brothers looked down at me, James.

„Alfie, over here says he got a text from Arthur."

„When?"

„Yesterday." I said calmly.

They looked at me in horror.

„That isn't possible... Arthur disappeared three days ago..."

„Well, then maybe we can find him with that text!" I said, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest.

Allistor looked at me, his expression unreadable. Then he took something out of his pocket. „This, is Arthur's phone." He growled.

I noticed how angry he was, so I quickly showed him the message.

He and his brother gaped at it for a while, until they're faces darkened with something like confusion.

„That right there, is Arthur's old phone number. We threw that phone away one year ago..."

„Why did Arthur go in the first place?" I asked, desperation clear in my trembling voice.

„We found a letter."

I left silently, taking it all in. A letter. How ironically familiar.

Letters are always my demise.

I walked passed my old home, cursing the silence and the empty windows, like eyes that long lost sight.

Unruly curtains like lashes, it stared.

I stared back, trying to find, within that darkness, the safe place I used to call home.

In the slip of a second, I see Arthur, smiling gently, from one of the windows.

What sanity, is granted to the unlucky ones?

The next moment the window was empty ones again.

I walked and walked, until I reached that playground, that ones was my greatest fear.

I found it rid of the unsatisfying silence.

I could hear birds signing, their voices like a chorus.

I could hear the wind caressing the trees sweetly, I realised, that whatever had possessed this place was gone and that there was life around me, yet I couldn't feel it.

I felt that night, on that playground, under that clear sky, unbearably close to everything in the universe and yet, extremely alone.

Maybe it was because of everything that I had found out that day, or maybe because I had given up, but I knew one thing: I couldn't be fake any longer.

I dropped my bag, my smile falling with it and the first time after so long, I cried.

I went to the swing, sitting down on it and rocking myself back and fourth.

I cried.

I cried about school.

I cried about my dad.

I cried about my insecurity.

I cried about my fake smile.

I cried for Arthur.

Arthur, who had tried to warn me all along. Arthur, who protected me without wanting anything back. Arthur, who lifted the curse of this place.

Arthur, who found me.

Arthur, who saved me.

Arthur, who held me close.

Arthur, who suffered, whose suffering I ignored.

Arthur, who pushed me away to protect me.

Arthur, who told me he cared.

Arthur, whom I loved.

How did it end up like that?

That night my mother found me on that playground and brought me back home.

I cried on my way back.

I cried in my bed.

I cried when my mother said I should take a week of.

I cried in the mornings, when I looked at my body, covered in invisible blood.

I showered, but it didn't come off.

I covered it in my own blood but it didn't cover.

I cried on that hospital bed, in that white room, because I felt like dying.

I cried as my mother pleaded for me to get better.

It feels like I cried for years.

I look out of the window. It's my station, so I exit the train.

I breathe in the familiar air.

Again, a lot of things have changed in my old neighbourhood.

The houses weren't empty any more, everything seemed lively and happy.

I walked passed the playground and see how children are playing on it.

I can hear the chorus of birds, singing that melody I heard that night.

The wild gardens are replaced by swimming pools and rose bushes.

All of the houses have been sold.

Except the house I used to live in, that house is full of „Don't enter!" singes.

Funny enough, that house is exactly the house i need to enter.

I don't care about the rules, I'll do what it takes to understand what happened.

To find Arthur, to save him, to hold him close.

I guess I'll have to wait for the night to start, so that I can enter without anybody seeing me.

I walk to the back-door of the house and quietly lean against it. I hear the birds sing and start to sing the lyrics of a song Arthur used to sing when we were little.

„London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. London bridge is falling down, my fair lady."

* * *

?

„Build it up with iron bars, iron bars, iron bars. Build it up with iron bars, my fair lady."

The voice is like a hammer, breaking down the silence. Today I got out of bed, and opened a window.

I had no air left...

I wonder why I didn't get a proper punishment. All I have left, is the silence, that is now being broken.

I am counting the seconds, like i often do.

I have started to count seconds of pain, seconds of numbness and those few seconds of happiness.

I wish I would have started counting from the beginning.

Maybe then I would know how much time has passed.

I am putting these seconds into those of happiness.

I know this song and it feels like whoever is singing it is doing it for me. Only for me. How rare...

Getting up was hard, I only managed to walk a couple meters to the window, to open it. Then I broke down and only could get up after 3000 seconds of pain.

I don't think I'll be able to thank whoever is singing, or to get water.

I have been feeling thirsty for 172700 seconds.

My friends told me I shouldn't go, since they think it's dangerous.

I believe them, of course.

They are the only ones that are real, everything else is false.

False. A face flashes through my memory, but i don't know who that person is.

„ **He is fake."** My friends tell me as they take me into their cold arms.

„Iron bars will bend and break, bend and break, bend and break. Iron bars will bend and break, my fair lady."

„ **He's fake too."**

I am still grateful, that voice makes for an amazing lullaby.

* * *

 _You thought Alfred would enter the house this chapter?_

 _Nope!_

 _As I said, a lot of hurt before comfort, so sorry!_

 _Could you solve Arthur's letter? I will give you a tip, it has a lot of things to do with the title for this chapter. If you think you got it right, feel free to comment._

 _By now, everyone should know who the question mark person is._

 _James is my Ireland OC and Allistor is Scotland._

 _Allistor doesn't hate Alfred, but he's really worried and I think he'd be the kind of person to get angry when worried, also I needed a bit of big brother protectiveness._


	6. Chapter 6

_And I_ _'m late once more! Great!_

 _Warning :Anyway, there will be violence and images that could be disturbing to normal people in this chapter._

 _Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia_

* * *

 **Finding, Saving, Holding close**

6\. Finding

(Alfred F. Jones 2038)

I lean against the door and drink coffee out my cup, then I place the empty cup on the ground.

I must look like I'm homeless, I feel homeless, not house-less, because I do have a house, but homeless, because my apartment is no real home.

Does that make sense?

It's still too early to go into the house, someone might see me.

I guess I'll just take a nap, so I wont be tired later.

Why did I drink coffee again?

Whatever.

I close my eyes, normally I'd be afraid of sleeping on the street, but I have a little something to protect me. The gun in my pocked is cool to the touch and it feels somewhat good to have it.

What would it be like to shoot someone, to watch them until they bleed out?

What kind of twisted pleasure do murders take from that?

It's not like I want to kill somebody, but I really wonder what would happen if i did.

What would it feel like?

I know I'll get in trouble if Ludwig finds out that I stole one of the guns, but it had to be done, i wasn't going to go unprepared.

I'm tired.

I don't know if I'm just tired of this day, or of life generally.

My vision is growing hazy and I snuggle into the warmth of my bomber jacket.

I'm inside a corridor, it's dark and long. At the end of the corridor I can see a door, that is slightly cracked open.

I start walking towards the door, but with every step I take it seems to get longer.

I start running.

I can't reach it, I just can't...

Suddenly, the ground under my feet cracks.

I fall into a pitch black hole, it feels like I'm falling for years.

I finally hit the ground.

Surprisingly, I'm in a train, it seems like a normal everyday scene.

The train stops and everyone exits, all the people in the train leave.

Except me, I'm not fast enough.

As I'm about to exit, the doors shut and the train starts again, I'm the only person on the train now.

The light flickers.

On.

On.

Of.

On.

On.

Of.

The train is getting faster and I fall to the ground.

A hand reaches out for me and helps me up.

Seems like I'm not alone after all.

A child is standing next to me, holding my hand.

I can't see it's face.

The train begins to collapse, I'm scared and I feel claustrophobic.

Then we enter the next station and without a warning the child pushes me out the train.

I'm in that corridor again, but this time I'm standing right in front of the door.

I open it slowly and enter.

The door disappears into thin air and I am trapped inside the room.

I look around and see a person sitting on a rocking chair, the person is slowly rocking back and forth.

I can only see their back.

The person is wearing a white, torn nightgown, they also seem to be extremely skinny.

The person's blond hair is looks sweaty and messy.

It's probably a boy, but I'm not sure.

He turns around slowly.

When I see his body I'm sure he's a guy, about my age.

A shiver runs down my spine as I look at the gown, it's sprinkled with blood.

The red liquid drawing sickeningly beautiful flowers in the boys body.

His thin arm are covered in bruises and cuts and burns.

Then I look at his face, I wish I didn't.

The boys face isn't a face, it's nothing like a face, maybe it once was a face...

The flesh on his face is turned into a spiral that goes deep into his skull, a spiral of flesh and blood.

I just want to leave.

The boy begins rocking back and forth faster and faster, like a crazed animal.

Suddenly the scenery changes. I'm inside a comfy living room.

Next to me sits a fluffy white teddy and in front of me a man with two children, he doesn't seem to notice me.

One of the two children starts crying, but it's tears aren't normal, they are red. The child is crying blood. It quiets down.

The man's blue eyes are focussed on the child, which is lying motionlessly in his arms.

It's dead.

I know it's dead.

I try to scream, but the man doesn't hear me.

He takes out a knife and starts cutting the child open.

I look away, only to notice that the teddy bear is growing.

It grows so fast that soon enough all I can see is white.

The man with the children is gone.

Suddenly I hear a loud thud and I can see the guy with the spiral face lye on the ground.

I seems like he's fallen of his chair.

The guy is tossing and turning violently.

I can imagine how much pain he must be feeling.

The guy starts crawling towards me, falling a couple times.

Only then I notice the big fork and knife that keep making holes in the white surface next to him, only missing by very little.

Blood starts to pour from the holes and the guy is swimming in a lake of red.

I can see him struggle and I can't help but feel pity.

I reach out my hand to him, so he can take it.

He takes it and i wonder how he can see, when he has no face.

I pull the guy out of the water, as he shakily gets up, he falls into me.

Now we're both kneeling on the soft ground.

He keeps shaking, so I wrap my jacked around him.

In that moment his face starts to change, the spiral begins to disappear, and suddenly I realise that in front of me, Arthur is kneeling.

His face looks exactly like I pictured it to look after all these years, except for a couple bruises.

The moment I try to reach out to him, something unexpected happens.

Arthur is smiling at me kindly, when out of nowhere, the shortly forgotten knife slides his body in two.

His head braking effortlessly, like butter.

His smile doesn't fade.

The moment the knife reaches Arthur's stomach, it stops and Arthur simply falls in two.

Then a child crawls out of Arthur's body.

Surprisingly, the child is completely clean.

It's wearing a silky light blue gown.

It's golden hair looks a lot like mine, but is slightly longer. It looks at through it's violet-blue eyes with such sorrow and understanding that I want to cry.

It altogether looks a lot like me when I was younger, yet different.

Slowly, it steps toward me, smiling, then I takes my hand and squeezes it. Tears fall down it's face.

Then the gigantic fork stabs though it's head.

The fork is held by a big fluffy paw and led to the gigantic bears mouth.

The bear bites the boy's head of and starts devouring him, the child doesn't make a single noise of complaint.

All I hear is crunching.

All I see is red on white.

I scream. An elderly woman is looking at me concernedly.

„Are you OK sir?"

I look around and see the door behind me and the houses in front of me.

God , what a horrible dream.

„I am fine, thank you, madam." I say quickly, to avoid a conversation.

The woman nods slowly and walks away.

I wonder what that dream meant and I'm glad I'm now awake.

I always have weird dreams, but that was on a whole new level, maybe being here brings out the crazy in me.

Arthur was in that dream and seeing him after so long was strange, but the thing I really wonder about is who the other persons were.

They all seemed somehow familiar.

Who was that child that looked so much like me?

Who was that man in the living room?

And there I go, two new questions added to my already infinite list. Great.

It's dark already, I must have slept for hours but it feels like nothing. I often have that feeling, like I've only been in bed for a couple of seconds but I've actually slept for a very long time.

It doesn't make sense. I don't like it.

I check my pocket for the gun and sigh in relief, as I feel the cool metal. Safe.

I look at my empty cup and notice that there are a couple pennies inside of it.

I really look like I'm homeless, huh?

I haven't really shaved and I'm wearing clothes whose only purpose is to be warm and comfortable, I

I don't care, I'm not going to keep the money though, because it feels unfair towards the people who are actually homeless.

I watch the small street in front of me, it's empty. The elderly woman seems to have been the last one to walk by, because now everything is silent.

A few rays of light creep through curtains of windows but that's all the light there is. I'm glad I have my flash-light with me, because I obviously can't just turn the light in that house on.

I stand up and face the door, I can't believe I'm going to enter after all this time. I feel slightly nauseous and I can't say I'm not afraid.

There is no going back now.

No time to be scared of ghosts.

I touch the doorknob lightly and feel a lump form in my throat. I give a slight push and the door cracks open immediately. I wasn't expecting that, that's sure. I thought I'd have to kick it in.

I open the door and go inside then I shut it and turn my flash-light on. I immediately notice the strong smell in the house, It smells like disinfectant, sweat and something I can't quite explain, it's a weirdly metal-like smell.

Toris told me it smelled like death, so they probably cleaned the house a bit, so the smell wouldn't reach the neighbours. That would explain the disinfectant.

In the pale light, I can see that the room I'm in is really messy, I'm in the living room, but there is barely any furniture.

No sofa, no table not even a single shelf or chair. Instead, the floor is covered in old news paper ,tissues and toilette paper.

I'm confused.

I quickly locate the kitchen, weirdly enough the kitchen is empty as well, the sink and the dishwasher and all the other things are gone, it doesn't look like a professional got rid of them because there are leaks all over the wall.

The floor is covered in paper, just like the other room.

The last room that I'll have to look at is my mother's old bedroom, then I'll move on to the second floor

I open the door to my mother's old bedroom and a strange feeling of deja vu overcomes me, I can't help but think of all those times I was scared and walked to my mom's room like this, in the darkness of an unholy hour.

The thing that makes me wonder the most is that everything is normal, in this room.

The bed is still there, so is the shelf and the big mirror.

It's like no one ever entered this room after my mother left and there is a thick coat of dust. There are countless spider-webs, in a way they look beautiful, each one is unique, but they also remind you of the lack of life in this room.

I know that I'll have to move furniture around to look for...

What am I looking for?

A clue, I guess, something out of the ordinary and I have the feeling I'll know when I find it. I put gloves on so I don't leave any fingerprints.

I start by looking under the bed, for any sorts of suspicious things, but I can't find much.

All I found was some mom-porn I didn't want to know anything about.

Now I'm standing in front of the closet. How can something we put clothes in be so scary. I guess everything looks scary at night ,but closets get to my the most.

You never know what could be inside them, unless you open them.

And what if then you don't want to see what you are seeing?

I open the closet slowly and it makes a terrible creaking noise, that makes my blood run cold.

The closet is now open and my hands are sweating.

I need to calm down, but it isn't easy to do so when I'm positively terrified.

I need to enter the closet to have a closer look, but I really don't want to. Stop it, Alfred F. Jones, your acting like a total coward!

I just need to see it this way, I haven't been in the closet for a while...yeah, I need to see it with humour!

I enter the closet and look through each drawer, then I find something in the bottom drawer, it's an article about the first foster-home in Manhattan, there is nothing special about it except that the word fuchsia is circled with some sort of liquid, I cant see the colour all that well, it doesn't matter.

Fuchsia.

What does that have to do with any of this, it's a colour...

What is fuchsia?

Wait...

Suddenly realisation hits me. The magazine from under the bed was fuchsia.

I quickly grab the magazine and look through the pages, on the third page another word is circled. The word „you" to be precise.

You. I start pacing.

Me?

I?

Who am I?

What do I have to do with fuchsia or the first foster-home.

I take swift look at the huge mirror. Maybe I'll find something there. Me.

Of course, it would make sense.

I take determinate steps towards the mirror and breathe against it.

1 2 3

I don't know what to make of that, but maybe I need to find something first, so that, that message makes sense. I don't even know who is leaving these messages but from the way they are written I do have an idea. I know that I shouldn't trust to much, but what other choice do I have?

I decide to move to the second floor, there only is my room and a bathroom on that floor.

I go into the bathroom first.

The smell is horrendous and there are „don't touch." and „don't enter." signs everywhere.

There is mould everywhere and a weird smell comes from the toilette. The curtains from the bathtub are closed, but I can see cryptic stains all over them.

I slowly reach out to open them.

Oh God. I jump backwards from the shock. The bathtub is full. Not of water though. It is filled with blood.

It smells like death, huh?

There is a trail of blood on the floor. Probably, there was someone in there and the police got them out.

I wish I hadn't panicked that time. I mean, I'm here now.

Why was I so scared then?

I look through the room some more, but I can't find anything that seems suspicious, or important.

The interesting thing is that there are no fingerprints, at all.

I walk out of the room.

The last room is the one I'm most scared to enter, my old room.

I don't know why. It simply scares me the most, it brings me back to nights I'd rather forget and times I'd like to rewind.

Standing in front of that room, after so many years, it really terrifies me.

The room was barricaded by the police, but I wont stop here, I can't.

I'm glad for all the training Ludwig makes us do right now, because I easily kick in the door.

I wait a moment, to make sure that I wasn't loud enough to wake anyone up. After a minute of silence I deem the situation safe.

I enter the room silently and slowly. I turn on the flash-light but leave my eyes shut, like I used to when I was a child.

I'm not a child any more.

I open my eyes widely, and for a moment time stands still.

I see...

A normal room?

It's ridiculous.

This is what I was afraid of?

I look around, everything seems normal. The room looks rather empty, that's all.

The only thing that might freak people out, are the hundreds of pictures on the wall. Pictures of children.

It doesn't shock me, I knew of this. I've seen worse today. I search for clues on the walls and I quickly notice how some pictures are circled with red, others with blue.

The names of the children are written next to them.

There are a lot more blue circles, than red ones.

The names circled in red are: Felix, Sisia, Ivan, David, Natalie

What do they have in common?

They all have light hair...but that can't be it.

There are two colours. Does that have something to do with the numbers on the mirror.

Maybe I'd have to insert the names where the two is, but that doesn't make sense...

Wait a moment...inserting! That's it! The article was about the first foster-home, so maybe I need to insert Foster where the one is.

On the third page of the magazine the word „you" was circled, so I need to insert that in place of three. Now the only thing left are the names...

What could I do with the names...

Maybe if I use the first letters of the names I get a word...

F, S, I, D, N. Those are my letters.

The only order that would make sense is...

F, I, N, D, S. Finds.

1 2 3

Foster finds you.

What?

I don't know why I'm running, but I can't bare to be in that room for much longer.

I run down the stairs, right into my mother's bedroom.

I look into the mirror.

Foster finds you.

The thing that makes me anxious is that Foster is my second name.

Alfred F. Jones.

Alfred Foster Jones.

Did I just find myself?

Or did myself find me?

I must be crazy.

I have to be fucking insane.

I don't get it and the worst thing is, I don't get why this scares me so much.

It feels so familiar.

I get a weird thought, looking into that mirror.

I haven't moved it yet.

How did I not think about that.

I slowly move the mirror away.

I hear a sudden thud. I jump, but then I notice something that something has fallen from behind the mirror.

It's a small notebook. I open the first page and immediately recognise my mom's handwriting.

I start reading.

Dear diary,

Today was the best day in my life so far! I met someone and I just can't describe him...

He has the most gorgeous blue eyes I've seen my entire life and I love the way he speaks.

I was at the park in my coffee-brake, as usual and I saw him walk by. He was talking to one of my colleges. I was so caught up in staring at him, I dropped my coffee on my shirt.

It hurt, but the good thing was that he noticed and even walked up to me.

He asked me if I was OK and I just nodded!

I really tend to act like a hormonal teenager, don't I?

Either way, I got his number now!

Wish me luck.

After that there were about 10 missing pages. Then there was another text.

Dear diary,

I can't believe it! I am the happiest woman on earth.

I gave birth to 2 healthy sons, twins! Can you believe it?!

We are so exited. I think I'll call one of them Alfred, like my father suggested.

My beloved husband thinks we should call the other Matthew, I like that name...

I can' t imagine anyone else as the father of my children.

We will make an amazing family, I'm sure.

The page looks used, like someone looked through it over and over again. It is the last page, the rest is empty.

I feel slightly nauseous, I don't know whether or not this is really my mother's diary, it could be fake...

I mean, I knew that my father left my mother, but nothing about a twin.

I don't have siblings.

My mother would tell me something like that, right?

She... she would never keep something from me.

She loves me.

She does love me, right?

I need to get out of here.

I walk to the living room. And sit on the ground in front of the empty fireplace.

Did this trip even bring me any closer to the truth?

Did it bring me closer to Arthur.

„ Foster finds you." I whisper.

What does that even mean?

Does it make any sense at all ?

Suddenly I hear a loud crash.

I stay still, with my eyes shut. I don't want to see, I don't want to breathe, I don't even want to exist.

I wish I could sink into the ground and ever wake up.

In short, I'm afraid.

After what feels like an eternity, I slowly open my eyes again, my gaze unfocused.

I look at the fireplace and to my surprise and horror the wall behind it is open, like a door.

I never knew that there was a door there...

I push the door a bit more open and see a small corridor, so small that a person would have to crawl on hands and knees to fit in it.

The corridor is completely dark and it makes me feel claustrophobic and uneasy from here. I have a feeling that it will be dangerous.

I need to crawl in there, but I think I should alert someone first.

Who should I call?

My mother would immediately send a searching group after me, I don't really trust Ludwig and Feliciano would be rather useless.

I should call Toris. I don't want to worry him, but i need the police to know about this, so if something happens to me, they will be able to find out the truth behind this crime.

I take out my phone and quickly call him.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

„...H-hello?" A sleepy voice greets me.

„ Hello, Toris. Listen, I don't want you to freak out. OK?"

„Alfred,...why do I have a bad feeling about this?"

„It's nothing dramatic. I'm at the house, were you found those pictures-"

„ALFRED!"

„I told you not to freak! You have to listen closely, OK. Behind the fireplace, there is a secret door, with a corridor behind it."

„We didn't find anything like that.."

„Did you look for something like that?"

„No."

„Exactly. Now, I am going to go into that tunnel and if I don't come back I want you to call the police department. I'll call you ones I'm out, if I don't call, you know what to do."

„You shouldn-"

I end the call, I trust Toris. He'll do what's best.

It's time to enter the tunnel, that sure will be fun...

I slowly crawl in. I only take my flash-light, my phone and the gun with me, I wouldn't fit with the backpack.

The tunnel is only a few meters long, but it leads to a latter that looks really long. The crawling was already bad, but this...

I take my first step down, grabbing onto the latter with one hand and shining down with my flash-light with the other.

I feel timeless.

Like I'm sinking deeper and deeper into the earth.

Almost like I'm one with it.

It terrifies me, yet I deliberately continue.

As if I have no choice.

Is this what death feels like?

Just having to fade, even when you are afraid to.

I take step after step, I don#t want to count them.

I don't want to give this feeling a number.

I just have to think of something else, while staying completely focused. Easier said then done...

How long have i been here? It feels like it's been hours.

Is it day yet?

When i finally reach the ground I sigh contently.

Maybe this is really what death feels like...

I stand here, silently, for a couple minutes, just enjoying the feeling of ground under my feet.

Wait. Why can't I see anything?

My heartbeat quickens. I try to turn my flash-light on, but nothing happens. The battery must be empty.

No problem! I have spare batteries!

In my backpack...

Shit.

I clench my hand around the gun in my pocket.

At least the air isn't that bad, There must be some sort of window somewhere...

My eyes start to adapt to the darkness. There is an open air shaft, that also lets a bit of light in. Like some sort of window.

I look around the room, it seems small and there is a chair and something that looks like a sink, to my left.

I try to focus my eyes more but that isn't easy...

To my right, there is a shower and a stool...wait.

My eyes dart back to the shower, there are curtains in front of it and there are water-marks on them, or at least I hope it's water...

I analyse the lower part of the shower- Oh God.

I can see a pair of boots, someone is standing there.

I jump backwards, my back hits the wall and i fire a the gun towards what I think is the direction of the shower.

Somehow, my back must have hit a light-switch because now there is a flickering light, showing me the room.

I wish it was still dark.

There is a locked fence in front of me.

The thing I thought of as a sink, is full of blood stained scalpels, knifes, pins, scissors and all other sorts of disgusting instruments.

The white walls are stained with blood and other liquids I can't identify.

The chair looks like those you often have to sit on at the dentist, only that there are chain-like things where I assume a person's arms and legs would lie. Just like the walls, it's full of blood.

The light flickers.

On.

On.

Of.

On.

On.

Of.

What a strange feeling of deja vu...

I look at the shower, what I hat thought were water-marks, are actually blood-stains. The curtains are of a white-yellow colour, and there is mould everywhere.

I realise that the „person" I shut is no person. The two boots are standing under the shower, without anyone wearing them.

Whoever is doing this must be a smart, huh?

Now that I look closely, I think there is another door behind the shower. It's open too.

I can't get in, because of the fence, though. The door is locked with two locks and I don't think i can kick that down.

I need the keys.

I try to fit through the fence but my arm barely fits.

I look around the room and notice a broom at the entrance.

Doesn't look like it was used often, this room is a mess.

Why is there a broom?

I think I have an idea...

I pick up the broom and push it through the fence. Bingo.

I push the curtain away completely, now I can see the slightly cracked open door.

I can't see the room yet, it's too dark, but I'll get there.

I use the broom to bring the boots closer.

A weird smell comes from them, when I look into them i nearly puke.

Organs. The boots are full of organs.

I look away quickly. What sort of twisted person did that?

I try not to think about it and empty the boots on the ground. Blood and organs spill on the floor and I choke, holding back puke ones more.

This house is hell, It's a labyrinth of horror.

Between the mass of organs I can seen two slightly rusty keys, but I really don't want to pick them up.

I do so anyway, reluctantly picking up the keys, which fit into the locks perfectly.

At least it wasn't all for nothing.

Now that I'm standing in front of the open fence, the room scares me more, it simply looks more real.

It's more real.

There is nothing between me and that place and it scares me.

I can feel tears form in the corners of my eyes as I take the first step, but I quickly wipe them away with my arm. Not with my hands, those are covered in blood.

I start walking faster and more willingly towards the new door. I open it, so the light from this room can reach it.

I look into the room. It's small and the air is more used here. The room is rather empty and just as dirty as the rest of the house.

The walls are dirty grey with wires sticking out and leaks, which are covered in mould.

In one corner I can see a dirty mattress and a stained, light blanked.

The room smells really unhygienic.

Did somebody live here?

I mean, there is a bed...but who the hell would willingly sleep here?

Maybe not willingly...

I take a step into the room, to analyse it for further clues.

I hear a loud thud.

Somebody closed the door.

Suddenly, I feel a sharp sting in my left shoulder. I quickly manage to dodge away from whatever slit through my shoulder and grab onto something, or better someone.

I'm holding a person by the wrist, but it's not the arm with the weapon.

The persons wrist is very thin, I doubt they can overpower me, so they can't be the one behind all this, right?

I at least hope so.

The attacher is struggling against my grip and I try to get his other arm, while he tries to stab me ones more.

I feel a sting on my right arm. That's the moment I take the attachers other wrist.

Suddenly I see multiple rays of light, and hear the door opening.

Everything is happening so fast...

The light is so strong, I can't see who is holding it.

„Al!" A familiar voice calls out.

Now that I can see clear, I notice that Toris, Ludwig and Feliciano are standing in front of me.

I wait for Ludwig to yell at me, but nothing happens, he is currently calming Feliciano, who is sobbing uncontrollably.

He must have had a hard time handling all the blood in the previous room.

I'm about to say something to Toris, when I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder.

How could I forget about that?

I look down to see the face of my attacher, but he is currently lying on the ground.

What?

I panic and turn him around so I can see his face, I feel his pulse, barely there.

His breathing is uneven and his eyes are closed.

The male has huge bags under his eyes and his face looks pale, his hair is died a dirty green colour and looks like it hasn't been washed in a while. It's also too long, it covers half his face.

His appearance is altogether ghostly.

The clothes he's wearing are dirty and at least two sizes too big, baggily hanging around his overly skinny form.

I run my thumb over his face to push away the bangs on his face.

His eyes flutter open and I feel like time is stopping.

Everything is a blur, the sirens, the voices, the images, these overwhelming feelings and those incredibly green eyes.

„I found you." I manage to mumble softly, before everything turns black. I found you.

* * *

?

„I found you." I here the unfamiliar voice softly whisper.

I must admit I was wrong, the right person is yet to come.

I feel closer to the sky than ever, I feel like i could drown in it.

Everything is too loud and too bright.

I wish they would shut up, because I'm starting to mix them with reality. Should it be true if I feel it or is it only true if everyone does.

I don't get the definition of real.

If I can see them then why? Why do they have to see them too?

Noises.

Touches.

People.

Faces.

Why?

I can feel it all so clearly so vividly.

When was the last time i had a dream so vivid?

When was the last time I dreamed at all?

* * *

(Toris Laurinaitis 2038)

I quickly walk by the different hospital rooms, to meat up with Ludwig and Feliciano.

I hope Feliciano is feeling better, he seems to be a bit shook.

I'm nearly there. I can already see my German boss sitting on one of the chairs in front of room 776, the room were Alfred is lying at the moment, unconscious if I might add.

I sit down next to Ludwig and sigh, letting out a bit of frustration. I really need to.

Ludwig looks at me, he looks tired and stressed and Feliciano is sleeping with his head on his shoulder. I choose not to comment on it, right now I'd really like to lean on somebody as well.

„Toris, wat do you think we should do?" He asks me tiredly.

„About Alfred?" I ask trying to understand him, his accent always gets worse when he's stressed.

„Ja." I thought so..

„I don't know. You are the boss, if you want to follow the law you'll have to fire him, but you will have to look forward to criticism. Alfred saved a life we wouldn't even have noticed. In a way he did a better job then we did." I try to explain politely, no matter what an idiot Alfred might be, he is my friend, I don't want him to get fired.

„I know...but he can't just run of without telling me! He should have informed us that he thinks somebody is in there." He counters half-heartedly.

„Do you think you would have believed him? No offence, but he never even went there with us, we most likely would have thought he was crazy." I say hoping he wont get mad.

„Ja, you're right, but I need to sleep before making a decision. Do you mind if i take the car to drive Vargas home? He needs rest."

„That's alright. I want to stay here a bit longer, maybe he'll wake up." I smile slightly, not asking him why he knows were Feliciano lives.

He walks away and I'm alone again, I dislike being alone, I really do. I broke up with my boyfriend a couple years ago and now I live alone. Sitting in a crowded hospital isn't bad, like this I have lots of people around me...

I lean back into my chair, suddenly a hand grabs on my shoulder.

„Hey! Tory you look, like, totally sick. Are you OK?" Felix asks worriedly.

I met him here about a week ago, when Alfred was unconscious and now I see him again, when Alfred is unconscious once more.

What a weird coincidence...

Maybe the fact that he works here as a nurse has something to do with it, but well.

„Hello Felix, I'm good, I can't say that about Alfred though.."

„Yeah, I heard. He's like sleeping again, right. What a fool!"

Felix is a fool himself but i don't tell him. It's nice that he sees things so differently and he has a beautiful smile...

Maybe this night wont be so lonely after all.

* * *

 _Oh my Lord and saviour! It's done!_

 _I wrote this new chapter and honestly don't know if i like it. Mostly because it reveals a lot of mysteries that I liked to keep to myself, but I eventually had to make things more clear._

 _I based Alfred's dream of a dream I've had, when I was in Paris. I'm this late because I went on another holiday, sorry not sorry!_

 _I don't know what else to say, except that I put Toris's perspective there as a little extra._

 _I might or might not do it again._

 _I'm sorry for all the violence in this chapter but it had to be done._

 _I must warn you that the story is far from taking a good turn, though, just because Alfred found him, it doesn't mean he saved him, at all._

 _Bye!_


	7. Chapter 7

_I am truly sorry this is so late, something really sad happened in my family, so I wasn't able to write anything, but I'm feeling better now, and I really owe you this chapter._

 _Ok, this chapter will be a bit different. It's written out of a different perspective and in a different time. I hope I didn't fuck up completely._

 _I'll give you a bit more insight in things I knew all along._

 _On that note, let's start!_

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, but I own a poster with chibi versions of all the characters now!_

 **Finding, Saving, Holding close**

7\. Play my part

(Arthur Kirkland 2024)

I'm walking home from Alfred's place. I frankly don't know what time it is, I only know that my mother is going to have me beheaded for coming back this late. It's like I can already hear her complaining and lecturing.

I sigh. It's not like this is my fault! Why does that git have to be so hyper? I am a very scheduled person and I don't fancy being late, much like I don't fancy not being in control of everything.

I wonder why I like to spend time with Alfred, he is the exact opposite of scheduled or in control of things. The twat believes in ghosts! We are seven years old.

Who is mental enough to believe in ghosts at that age? The guy is completely bonkers.

I smile. Even if he's a crazy moron, I don't think we'll ever stop being friends. From the first day of school, I liked him a lot. Even though he insulted me and tackled me that same day, about a year ago.

I'm probably a bit mental myself, aren't I. It must have been that wankers influence. Only a crazy person can be friends with him.

I slow down my step. I'm already late. What's the point of running now?

I breathe in the cool night air. It's fresh and smells like wet grass. Most people wouldn't enjoy this smell so much, but I certainly do. It reminds me of England. I feel like everything is more alive at night. Sometimes I think I can hear the trees breathing or people giggling, even when there is no one. When I'm outside, when it's dark I feel like everything is more real and close to me. So real, that it's surreal.

I feel like my life is a 3D film, with a ridiculously large number of pixels. I love that I can just brush my hand against the leaves slightly and feel just how real the entire world is. How real I am.

I start walking again.

Then suddenly I see a flash from one of the bushes. It startles me at first, but I really would like to know where it came from.

My eyes are fixed on the bush, but nothing happens. I stay still for a few more moments, then, as if it was the most natural thing to happen, about a hundred fire flies burst out of the bush, like a yellow glowing waterfall. There is only one thing I can think of: _Beautiful._

I walk closer to the cryptic bush and let out a startled yelp when I see who's in it.

The human-like figure is dressed in black, a black cape over its shoulder's. What kind of person wears a cape? I hate to say so, but Al is the first person that comes to my mind. It also wears a weird white mask with a black spiral on it. How does it see?

As if it can read my mind, it taps against a small black hole at the height of where his left eye should be.

I nod in understanding. I kind of like this quiet conversation. Gestures can speak so well.

The thing cocks its head to the side, like a confused puppy. Again, something that reminds me of Alfred.

I do the same. Trying to understand its language, to speak it, somehow.

At that it stands up to its full stature. It's tall, a lot taller than me for sure and I can't quite explain it, but it sends of vibes, that seem dreadfully intimidating. It would be smart to go home now, but I don't want to be smart. I want to be free from that tidiness that is my life.

Did Alfred's lust for adventure infect me? Is that passion like an illness?

I look at my strange companion critically, as if I'm trying to make sure he is safe to be around. Then I smile at him shily and ask a question I'd never have expected myself to ask.

"Do you want to be my friend?"

The creature nods furiously. How silly…

I giggle at my new-found friend's antics and wave him goodbye.

He waves back and sits down in his bush again.

I can't wait to tell everyone about him.

(Arthur Kirkland 2026)

I'm running. I don't know from what exactly, but I'm running nonetheless.

It's dark out, but I can't seem to find any sort of comfort in the fresh air. Rain is falling from the sky, like buckets of cold water pouring down on me, as if they're aimed exactly at me, somewhat like missiles. I run fast, faster, until I reach _that_ sensation. When everything is a blur of colors and all I can do, want to do, is run. My legs feel nonexistent, I do not need to think to move them. I'm on autopilot.

A cold wave of wind whips against me, like I'm a boat in a storm. With every wave I feel a new shiver run down my spine, I feel my body tense at the cold caused by the strong wind against my drenched clothing. I don't care.

I need to get away. Away from what exactly I do not know. I guess away from everything and nothing at the same time. I don't get it, I wish they could believe me, just this once. I'm not a liar.

They were fine with it in the beginning. So, why am I crazy now? I hate how they always ask so many questions. Who am I to answer them? Who are they to ask?

Usually at this time of the day, I should talk to the "professional". I'd have to drive to the small yellow house and my mum would have to pay the impossible, just for me to talk to the guy. You can't even call it talking, it's more like being interrogated. Why would anyone pay for that?

"How are you feeling Arthur?"

"What have you been hearing or seeing as of lately?"

"At what time can you hear them more clearly?"

"What do you see in this picture?"

"Why are you so sure they are real?"

Questions like those. Sometimes I would love to ask him why the hell he cared, but of course I'd always answer politely. Mostly to make my mother happy. The thing that confuses me is that they all want me to stop lying to them, but they also want me to say I can't hear or see my friends, but in that case, I would be lying because I do see them. Do they want me to lie?

I finally slow down my step until I stop walking and just sit down under one of the trees surrounding the small park. If it wouldn't be raining I'd sit on the swing, but right now this is the place to be. I like this park because I can simply be true to myself when I'm here, without making anyone uneasy. It hurts people when I'm myself and I don't want to hurt the people I care about.

How am I going to solve this problem? What is this problem? Am I the problem?

I tend to have days like this one. I wake up and just the day before I've been completely fine, and feeling so great about my life, then the next day I wake up, but I really wish I didn't. It's strange how a few hours of sleep can completely change the way I see the world and myself. Then I start asking myself so many questions and my family starts asking questions and the professional starts asking questions, even my friends start asking questions. It's all a blur of infinite questions, so many that I can't understand a single one of them, let alone answer. All I can do on those days is let the questions pour down on me like waterfalls, breaking my skull. Because questions are like water, if they aren't to many and they rain down on you slowly, they are bearable, enjoyable even, but when they're mercilessly being thrown at you in senseless manner, then they can easily kill you. On those days I simply close the curtains, hoping to sleep through them, hoping that somehow all the noise will stop, if I just kill the light.

I know that my mother is probably worried right now, or maybe she's glad I'm gone? I can't decide, either way, it probably won't save me from the questions. Nothing can ever save me from those.

Am I selfish for not wanting to go to the doctor, just for him to ask more questions and make me ask more questions to myself? I probably am. I just don't want to see him today, just not today. Any other day is fine, but not today. I know that running away from home, much like running away from my problems won't help me for the long shot, but I can't help but want some peace and quiet sometimes, even if I don't deserve happiness it doesn't make me want it any less. I really like to pretend.

" **You look down Arthur."** A high-pitched voice says worriedly.

I yelp, I wasn't expecting one of my friends here. "Oh, I'm good, really. How are you doing, flying mint bunny?"

He giggles and flies around my head, then he pokes my head and looks me dead in the eye **"I know** **that you are lying. Tell me, did those horrible people lie** **to you again?"** his voice doesn't sound concerned now, he sounds kind of…angry?

"W-well, they told me what they always do, b-but I don't believe them." I answer, confused and slightly intimidated by the tone of his voice.

" **Really? That's weird. I'm pretty sure you've been ignoring us."** A different, more feminine voice says. The delicate fairy sits down on my shoulder, her frilly blue dress tickling my ear.

"I really didn't mean to do that. I promise, I just didn't want my classmates to believe I'm crazy."

" **Why would you want to please them instead of pleasing us? We are your real friends."** Flying mint bunny says in a soothing tone.

"I know but…You see…I think I'm the only one that sees you guys…" I tell them quietly, hoping they won't get mad.

" **Artie…"** The fairy says soothingly.

" **Arthur."** Mint bunny mumbles sadly.

I feel bad for them now, but I needed to tell them.

" **Arthur. They can all see us, but they ignore us!"** Mint bunny says loudly.

" **Yes. They ignore us. Think we're not worth their time, Artie!"** The fairy yells.

" **Exactly!"** Another voice screams.

" **Humans are evil!"** I don't even know who that was.

" **Disgusting!"**

" **Filthy!"**

" **THEY SHOULD ALL DIE!"**

" **KILL THEM ARTHUR!"**

What-what is….what is going on…?

(Arthur Kirkland 2030)

I look at my mother proudly and she looks back at me with a satisfied expression. The psychologist smiles at us kindly as we wave him goodbye. This was our last visit.

We walk to the car and I'm glad I can see my mum smile happily. I open the door for her, like the gentleman I am and we both get in.

"It's a shame that Alfred left the neighborhood. You two are such good friends." My mother says sadly.

"It doesn't matter, mum, I'll see him on the weekends." I say, trying to sound sad. The thing is, I'm not. I am glad that Alfred isn't in this dangerous situation anymore, though I'm not sure he knows how bad it really is. Alfred tends to be so naïve, I am relieved I was able to protect him. Then again I don't really know what the danger is either,

"But will you really be able to keep that up?"

"Of course, mum."

A long silence follows. I look out of the window and at the large corn-field. I can see a male figure standing there, something small shiny in his left hand. The mask is oddly familiar. It doesn't matter. It's just my imagination. So is the clicking and the flashes. It's just my brain trying to fool me.

I think back at the time Alfred and I went swimming. I didn't know he had a psychosis too.

At least I know I won't fall for my brain's tricks anymore, because in the end, the things I see are not real. They can't hurt me.

(Arthur Kirkland 2031)

I'm walking or to be more precise stumbling home from a wild night at a friend's house. The usual, alcohol, drugs, loud music and what comes with it. It's about two in the morning and I'm not home yet. My mother will kill me, even though she should be used to this by now.

I already have a headache, but I don't even try to promise myself I'll never drink again, because that's bollocks. Drinking is the only thing that can make me forget about them, it's the only thing that helps when they call my name. The psychologist told me it would stop if I ignored them long enough, but it's not true. I see them more often then I used to.

During the week I usually get myself high on medicine, that's supposed to help me, but really, only makes me allergic to lactose. On the weekends I prefer real drugs, the kind that will hopefully give me cancer or a stroke.

I drag myself home tiredly, I just want to go to bed and die, my head feels like it's going to explode. The bright light of a street lamp causes me to wince, god do I hate those fuckers. I kick the lamp hard and fall to my feet in the process. My head hits the floor and I wince once more. The world must really, fucking hate me.

"Hey, are you OK kid?" Someone says suddenly, startling me.

"OI! What do you want?!" I answer angrily. My headache is already bad enough and I don't want anything loud near me, at the moment. I turn around to yell at the person some more, but I freeze when I see the familiar spiral-mask. I turn around again, get up and continue stumbling home, as if nothing happened, as if I can't feel that presence creeping behind me, as if I can't feel that warm breath on my neck, as if I'm not baffled that for the first time, he talked to me, as If I didn't recognize that voice.

 _It's all in my head,_ I think, as I slowly open the door to my home and close it behind me.

I look out of the window, only to see the thing I used to call my friend, standing there, like a statue and even though I can't see his eyes, I know he's watching me. Even though I can see him so clearly, I know he isn't real.

I walk upstairs quietly, tomorrow I will get another scolding and a lot of questions. I won't give a single honest answer, not to deceive her, but to protect her.

I'll do what I do best, I'll stay silent and play my part.

(Arthur Kirkland 3032)

Everything is loud, unbearably so. Everything is drowning everything else out. Screams, cries, music. It all morphs together, into some sort of background noise, that pushes itself into the foreground. It's bland and undefinable. I hear it, but I'm not really listening, even when I pretend to try.

It's ironically like my life, which is ironic as well, since I go here to forget about my life. My life is a bland mix of half-truths and lies. Everything is a mirage.

I am part of a crowd, a loud one, that doesn't really say anything. We are strangers and acquaintances intimately pushed up against each other, bonding over the smell of alcohol and a long lost dream. We're failures, problems that don't want to be solved, or maybe, that nobody would care to solve anyway.

I'm glad. I'm glad that people look at me and think the worst instantly. I'm glad they don't see the good in me. When people see good, they expect good and I don't want to live up to anyone's expectations. I'm glad that even my closest friends have given up. Because, once they have given up, they aren't shocked or sad anymore, they don't feel anything.

I push through the horde of people. It's like swimming through an ocean of honey. I move the weight in front of me, causing it to stick to my body, somehow taking part of it with me as I move. I brush against so many, derogatory eyes and sticky hands, I can't count them. My body is getting heavier, as I take part of them with me.

I don't know much else, I simply feel heavier with every step and with my body, my eyelids start to drop.

The last thing I see is blue, a color so familiar, so stunning, that I feel like I should remember something, but I can't. I think, I might be forgetting myself…

I lift my head slowly and I quickly notice it is a bad decision. Everything hurts, but my head is the worst. I decide against opening my eyes, instead images of last night come to my mind. I was at a party and drank a lot, then I tried to go home and…

What happened after that?

Did someone bring me home?

I can't open my eyes yet, I don't want to get even more of a headache than I already have.

I breathe in deeply. Something is off. I can't smell any alcohol. After a night like that, it just doesn't make sense, I should Have that smell all over me.

Instead the air is full of another strong smell that I can't quite identify. Like a combination of metal and mold? My house doesn't smell like that…

Where am I?

I only realize it now, but this is bad. I force my eyes open.

Instant regret, the bright light makes it impossible to see anything. I try to keep my eyes open.

The light flickers.

On.

On.

Of.

My vision starts to become clearer and ever so slowly I see what kind of room I am in. The walls are painted with blood, syringes, scalpels and other weird objects are in the sink in front of me. There is a shower with bloodstained curtains to my right. I notice that the room I'm in is surrounded by a fence.

I don't panic, because this is just an illusion, right?

It has to be the biggest illusion I've ever had.

I try to stretch and wince at the extreme amount of pain I feel. I feel sore and like my skin is burning.

I look down at my self and scream in horror.

Blood, there is dried blood everywhere. My arms and legs are covered in cuts and burns.

I can't move, due to the chains on my wrists and legs. The chair I am sitting on is covered in blood. My blood.

Now that I've seen it, it hurts even more. Like my skin has been severed from my body. Everything burns with agony. I tear up, biting my lip to somehow ease the pain, or distract myself from it, but he more I think, I think about the pain. I wish it would stop.

Is this really an illusion? It must be, right?

It would be completely absurd if this…was real…

Come to think of it, I've never felt pain like this in any of my illusions before…

I feel my heart beating faster the more I think, to the point that my heart is racing with my thoughts.

This is too surreal. Yet, I'm pretty sure this is real…

I hear footsteps. Someone is coming.

A man enters the room, unlocking the fence. His mouth is covered by a black mask, his hair seems to be a chocolate brown and he is dressed like a doctor, tunic and all. He walks towards me slowly, menacingly so. As he comes closer I see his expression, or to be more precise, the expression of his eyes. Malicious glee, and I can only picture the smirk he must be hiding under the mask.

I could scream, but I just can't. there is that little voice in my head, telling me that no one will hear me anyways. What would he do if I scream?

Instead of doing anything, I stay quiet, like I always do. It simply is the thing I'm best at. I try to seem indifferent to the situation, but from the way he looks at me I can tell my eyes are betraying me, showing him how scared I really am.

"Hello, my child. You look kinda scared. You needn't worry, for I'm just here to save you from them. Look where their lies got you…" The man says gently.

I stay silent.

"Oh. So now you are ignoring me? Well, you've always been one for ruining plans…" He says his tone of voice growing ominous.

"Who are you?" I manage to say without stuttering.

He replied without missing a beat. "I'm nobody. I mean, obviously I am somebody, but my identity shouldn't concern you. Call me Foster, for now."

"W-where am I?" I stutter out, growing more and more terrified of the man in front of me.

He just lowers his head to look me in the eye, his piercing blue eyes reminding me of Alfred. He is so close, I can feel his breath on my skin, he smells like smoke and disinfectant. "Know your place. You have no right to be asking that." Is the only answer I get.

"Why am I here?" Is the last question I ask.

He chuckles "You should know. I wasn't really after you, but the way you ruined my plans must have inspired me. Anyways, you already asked way too much. I'd rather get this started before I have to head off to work."

I want to ask more, but I feel like that wouldn't make the situation better, so I keep it to myself.

"You certainly are a smart guy. You know when to shut up." Foster said, his eyes showing excitement. "Now, I've been meaning to try this method out for so long, to bad the last guy kind of didn't work anymore, if you know what I mean…" He walks over to where the sink is and pulls out big a syringe filled with a blue liquid.

He walks back to me, the glee in his eyes evident. "I must admit, I've been giddy to try this." He says, before carefully inserting the syringe into my vein. It feels like any normal syringe would and is nothing against the cuts on my skin.

He stares at me as if he's waiting for something.

Then I feel it, it's like a hot liquid is creeping through my veins and pushing my blood away. I let out a low grunt at the feeling of burning from inside.

His eyes spark. "Well, it still needs to be perfected, but the pain should go away soon." He informs me.

The substance continues its agonizingly slow journey through my body. I try to stop the tears from falling down my burning cheeks but fail miserably. I close my eyes tightly, as if that could help me cool down, it doesn't, obviously.

I open my eyes again, everything around me is blurry, then suddenly my head starts throbbing harder. I gasp in shock. I start seeing images of London, memories actually. They just seem to be different. They don't feel familiar anymore.

Then I find myself sitting in my old kindergarten, next to all the toys, but no one is there. I start walking slowly, looking for someone, I look out of the window, the streets are completely empty and there is rain pouring down. I start walking once more, but trip on a teddy bear. I fall backwards, landing on my bottom, but not feeling any pain. I look up at the ceiling in horror.

All my friends from kindergarten are hanging there, like a twisted kind of decoration.

I scream. My vision gets blurry again and my body hurts like before. I close my eyes tightly, then I open them again.

I'm sitting in the weird room, chained to the chair, again. I actually feel relieved.

He looks at me angrily "Well, this didn't go as planned…" Then he looks at the notes he'd taken. His expression brightens quickly. "luckily I have a lot more! For now, you will have to rest though."

He gets up from his stool and undoes my chains. I see this as my chance to escape so I quickly launch myself forward, trying to run away, but I end up feeling dizzy and falling to the floor in the process.

As I try to get up I feel a sharp pain in my ribs, he must have kicked me. I turn around to see his figure looming over me threateningly.

"You have made a mistake child." He says darkly.

I only know one thing, I need to protect the world from this.

(Arthur Kirkland ?)

"Arthur Kirkland, about 15 years old, from England, currently in America." I mumble softly, so that no one hears. I've been doing this for what seems like forever, I say forever because I really don't know how long it has been since I got here, wherever that is…

I think I keep forgetting things, like the list of information I identify myself with keeps getting shorter and shorter, until it's inexistent. All that will be left one day, will be question marks. I fear that day. I fear the day I forget myself. I fear the day were this becomes my reality.

I wish I could make the list a ritual, only doing it at night, but I can't really tell day and night apart from down here.

I turn around on the filthy mattress, trying to get into a comfortable position to get some sleep, before it's too late. I wince and look at my bruised stomach, I can see my ribs through my skin, they look like they are trying to escape my body, I can't say I wouldn't like that too.

My body is beyond hurt, stiches bruises and burn marks everywhere. Some scars, from the older ones. One would think you'd get used to the pain after a while, but that isn't true, at all. Every day Foster picks another poison, another method. I feel like a huge experiment, not like a human being.

I trace my neck with my thumb, I let it linger on the hooky for a while, I think that will leave a mark.

" _Don't act like that, boy. You have brought this upon yourself."_ The toxic voice echoes through my mind, husky and disgusting like then. Was it long ago?

I hear the door open, two high figures are now looming above me.

"Meet our guest, child." Foster says menacingly.

(?)

I hug myself, wrapped up in the sticky blanket. Everything around me is dark.

" **Don't worry, we will always be with you."** Flying Mint Bunny says happily.

" **Yeah! We can protect you from those nasty humans."** The unicorn exclaims.

" **Don't be sad!"** The fairy added.

"Of course, you'll be my friends." I chuckle, hugging myself closer as tears run down my face.

" **See what they did to you?"** The fairy grumbles **.**

" **You should kill them."** Mint Bunny suggests.

" **Yeah! Kill them! Then we will be happy and free forever!"** The unicorn agrees.

" **Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!"** They chant.

"How do I kill them?" I ask quietly.

" **With a knife, silly."** The fairy replies.

I guess I'll get a knife…

* * *

Allright, this is it for now. What do you think? I hope it isn't to cringy or exaggerated, if you don't like it, I'll do it again.

The whole thing might seem a bit extreme, but our Foster is not the type of villain, that does evil things because he feels like it. He has his reasons, trust me.

If you have any idea who Foster is, go ahead and tell me! Reviews are very much appreciated. If there is something I did wrong don't refrain from telling me.

I hope I could give you a bit of insight on Arthur's life and personality in this chapter. It's also really angsty. I originally planned to make it gorier, but I didn't want to overdo it.

By the way, the mask that Arthur's friend is wearing is inspred by Toby's mask in Naruto.

On that note, I hope you are exited for the next chapter.

Bye~


	8. Chapter 8

_Hi…_

 _It's been a while…_

 _I'm so sorry!_

* * *

 **Finding, Saving, Holding Close**

8\. Small steps

 _Disclaimer: Hetalia isn't mine._

(Alfred F. Jones 2038)

I can't remember falling asleep and yet here I am, waking up to a weird chemical smell and lights that are far too bright. There is definitely pain in my right arm, but at the moment my sight is too blurry and unfocused to see what is going on, it would help if I had my glasses at least.

Slowly the whole scenery gets more focused, I can see the hospital-room clearly now.

"Hey! Wake up American! You're like totally worrying Liet!" A flamboyant Nurse tells me, or better yells.

"Who is Liet?" I ask, confused about the guys attitude, I never even met him!

"Right. You wouldn't ,like, call him that, but it's totally Toris's new nickname! Anyway, you should be, like, way more grateful, this was the second time I had to help look after you all night! Why are people always unconscious when I do good things for them?" The man responds proudly.

I chuckle a bit, I'm glad I don't have to wake up to a doctor asking me all sorts of questions this time. It has been a while since I've laughed and truly meant it. "Thank you…What is your name, oh my mysterious saviour!" I joke.

The blond smirks at the joke and introduces himself. "The name is Felix."

Felix… I feel like I've heard that somewhere before, or maybe read… I look at his glowing green eyes, smug grin and shoulder-long blond hair in a messy ponytail. He looks familiar.

Suddenly it's like everything that happened yesterday is crashing down on me. The pictures, the names, the weird rooms, ...Arthur! I look at Felix nervously, I don't know what to do anymore. Part of me wants to run out of this room and look for Arthur, until I find him and get to hold him close, like I used to. Another part of me wants to stay in bed forever and just forget all of this never happened, so I don't have to face the changes Arthur might have made, to face the fear that Arthur isn't really my Arthur anymore.

I look at Felix helplessly. Is Felix the Felix I saw on that picture? Or am I simply becoming a paranoid mess. "Could you let me call Toris?" I ask nervously. Maybe Toris can calm me, he is my friend and he has a very logical mind, he knows how to make decisions.

"Why call him if he's here?" Felix asks, a cocky grin on his face.

"Here?" I ask, a bit confused. Toris wouldn't, no couldn't have possibly spent the entire night at the hospital.

"Liet said something about you having a lot of emotional troubles…About that one patient whose name nobody knows, he said he wanted to stay in case you'd wake up at night and panic. Liet really is a great guy…" He only mumbles the last sentence. "You see, he stayed up till like 1 in the afternoon, after basically being awake the whole night getting you out of that house. He wanted to stay awake by drinking coffee, but that would be like totally bad for his health, so I kind of let him sleep in one of the rooms meant or nurses and doctors to take a short nap between all the shifts. He totally needed it!"

"You're right, Toris really is a great guy. I seriously owe him for that. We should let him sleep…" I can't help but smile at the thought of Toris going that far for me, I really should treasure my friends more, not like I did with Arthur. I cringe at the memory of his frail body covered in scars and his green eyes dull, like those of a dead man. What if his character changed as much as his looks?

I can't believe he is actually there…It seems impossible.

Why am I even holding back? I need to see him, I won't calm down or get any answers unless I see Arthur.

"His name is Arthur Kirkland." I tell Felix since he said he didn't know.

"The guy that I was talking about?" Felix asks, a frown on his face.

"Exactly. Before you ask, I knew him when we were kids, we used to be very good friends. He went missing about 5 years ago and now we found, well I kind of, f-found him. Does the police know anything yet?"

"Well, Ludwig, like, told the doctor he would go through the files concerning missing people, but that might take some-"

Felix is interrupted by the door opening and Ludwig walking in. "Sorry, I forgot about the nocking. Anyway, I have some news. "He glares down at me. Then he continues. "Jones. You have stolen a gun. You went inside a house, which you weren't allowed to enter. You brought yourself into a dangerous position and lastly you let us get you out of there at an unholy time. You broke every sort of rule the police have and that makes me angry, but what makes me even angrier is that you were right. You saved a person that would have died if you hadn't come. I hate that Jones. I can not fire you, it would cause the media to hate the police. That can't happen. Nothing is stopping me from having an eye on you, though and I will. Now, about the man you saved, I checked the files and it turns out to be Arthur Kirkland, who has been missing for 5 years, we had already given up on finding him, but you somehow knew he was there. So that leads me to think you are hiding something Jones." He finishes his rant.

"I-I used to be friends with Arthur, when we were younger, we were neighbours and we went to the same school, I used to live in that house. W-when Toris told me about the pictures and that it smelled of death, I-I just had that feeling. Like something was awfully wrong, I know that feeling and with time I've learned to rely on it more than my brain." I answer, starting to panic. I really need to see Arthur. "I-I've been looking for him for a long time. Could I see him?" I ask, hoping I didn't test my luck.

"You can, but I will have to warn you, Jones. Kirkland isn't really…well you'll see. Are you sure you want to see him now?" Ludwig says sternly.

"I am." I decide, because I know I won't be able to relax unless I see him.

"I'll like get you there than, but first you might want to change."

I look down at myself and notice I am shirtless. I don't really care, but I do notice the band-aid around my shoulder, the wound must have been deeper than I thought.

Felix hands me new clothes and leaves with Ludwig afterwards. I change quickly and walk out of the room. Now I just need to follow the instructions that Felix gave me and find the room, hall 17 room 76. I need to go to the second floor, so I decide to take the elevator. I walk toward the elevator and enter quickly, next to me there is a tall man with silver hair and violet eyes, he is looking at the ground as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, there is a woman with slightly darker long hair and blue eyes standing next to him, she is clinging to his arm and looking at nothing specific. The guy slightly lifts his head once we reach the second floor, now I can see his face and damn, I know that face. Ivan Braginsky I cringe slightly at the memory of his smirk, a smirk that isn't on his face at the moment, it has been replaced by a look off sadness and dark circles under his eyes. Normally a person would say hello to someone they went to high-school with, but Ivan and I, we really had a horrible relationship, we hated each other and yet we-we bothered others, well, bothering is not exactly the right word. Here we go, the memories come back.

 _I was 14 years old and well, an asshole._

 _We watched the guy avert his gaze uncomfortably his eyes full of fear, fear that we created, me and Ivan. We walked toward him, smirking evilly, we didn't like each other, but scaring the other kids was fun to us._

 _We backed the guy into a corner, his brown eyes started to fill with more horror with every step we took, we felt powerful. Nowadays the mere thought of that sickens me, but back than it was a kick._

" _Well, if you keep walking you'll hit the wall, so why don't you stay were you are that'll spare you the embarrassment, da?" Ivan's voice was sickeningly sweet and his Russian accent made even scarier._

" _Let him walk." I said to Ivan. "It can't get more embarrassing than his face." I chuckled meanly, Ivan and I used to bully all sorts of people, but the Mexican kid was the one, who was effected the most, he would cry or give us his money, we didn't even need to beat him, simply walking by and saying some snarky, false and absolutely stupid remark was enough._

 _His eyes filled with tears and as he silently cried, we smirked and left him, calling_ _him a crybaby._

It felt great at the time, but the kick would leave and once it did, it hit me hard. I would regret it. I deserved it.

I walk down hall 17, my pace is getting quicker and quicker. I watch the different room numbers pass by.

74.

75.

76.

I stop, my hand is reaching for the handle shakily. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but that isn't possible. My whole body must be shaking by now. My hand is on the handle and I open the door slowly, suddenly conflicted about whether I should open it or not. The door opens with a creaking noise, but except that the room is completely silent.

I enter, slowly tip toing into the room.

My gaze immediately falls to the bed, I walk toward it slowly. I can only see the white sheets and the dozens of wires attached to the machine next to the bed.

Now that I am finally close enough, I understand why I couldn't see Arthur before. His body is so skinny that he is basically swallowed by the warm looking blanket, which reaches up to his nose. The volume would probably the same without Arthur in it.

I slowly pull down the blanket from his face, revealing a shadow of the Arthur I used to know. His cheekbones are like daggers through his pale skin, which is at best a shade darker than the blanket. There are deep dark circles under his closed eyes. Both his mouth and his nose are covered by a machine that is most likely responsible for the slow rise and fall of his chest. It breaks my heart.

I just stand here, looking at Arthur, studying his features as if I am OK with seeing him like this. I f I could I would hug him, just to feel his heartbeat, touch him just to know he is still there, really there. But I don't have the heart to do it, I just can't, like I can't stop the tears from falling down my cheeks like sad waterfalls. The salty, warm water falls onto Arthur's face, rolling down his thin cheeks, they look so out of place, even though Arthur surely would have more of a reason to cry than I do, at the moment. It's probably because he looks so dead and dead men don't cry.

Dead men don't open their eyes either.

Arthur is staring right at me, trough big, slightly damp, green eyes, then he shuts them again, bothered by the bright light. I lean over him, to shield him from the lamp. Arthur opens his eyes again, more slowly this time and as he studies his surroundings I realize one thing. I have no idea what to say to him. To be more precise, I don't know what to start with. Does he even remember me?

I swallow, slowly leaning away from Arthur, who doesn't pay any sort of attention to me. He isn't even looking into my direction.

I clear my throat. No reaction.

I repeat the same thing. No reaction.

I slightly tap his shoulder. No reaction.

"Arthur, I-I don't really know where to start, but I'd appreciate if you'd look at me?" No reaction.

The irony of the whole thing is too much, this is too much like our first meeting, or maybe to Arthur this is our first meeting.

"D-do you remember me? I-I'm Alfred, we were friends." I say, my voice hopelessly cracking. I don't receive any kind of reaction from Arthur, it hurts, because he is here physically but his mind is not in this place with me and because dead men don't talk.

The only thing that proves he is still alive is his heartbeat.

"Arthur…I'm begging you! Talk to me?" He doesn't even turn his head.

I am starting to lose my patients, my self-control starting to fail me. I'm angry.

Arthur is currently looking at the wall to my left, when I force his head to turn to me. His eyes are now looking into my direction, but he isn't looking at me. Arthur is looking through me like I'm a window, like I'm made of glass. It probably suits me well, being made of glass, because I'm quiet breakable and I'm unstable.

I pull my hand away from under his chin, shocked at my own actions. How could I do that, when Arthur is in that sort of condition. I can't just do that, I have to be the patient, strong one. This is my fault, and I'm going to have to deal with the consequences. I will love Arthur, even if he can't love me. I will protect him, after not being able to do so back then.

"I'm sorry Arthur, I shouldn't have done that." I won't cry. No. I will be the strong one.

Arthurs head slowly turns to the left again.

I take the seat from the right wall and sit next to Arthur. I can see his small hand peeking out from under the covers and I want nothing more than to just take it and squeeze it tight, but I know that I'll have to hold back.

Instead of physical contact I should start with making him remember himself. I start listing all the information I know about him. Then I proceed to tell him how we met.

"…and you were reading Shakespeare in first grade! I didn't even know who that was, I thought it was Shakepear." I chuckle slightly at the memory, but immediately stop when I hear a noise from him, it sounds like an annoyed grunt. Then he doesn't say anything anymore, but then again it's still a start.

"Well gee Artie, even in this sort of situation you try to point out my stupidity. I really missed that… You know, the police is informing your family at the moment, your mother died a couple years ago, but your brothers will have to get here from Scotland and Ireland, I already told you about your father… I hope you talk to your brothers, they must be really worried, and I don't know if they can handle seeing you like this. Remember, whatever they do, they really care about you."

The door opens and an angry looking Toris enters followed by a confused Felix. "Alfred. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how much you fucking worried me, you idiot." He takes a deep breath. "I wish I would have been woken up when you woke up." He sighs tiredly.

"I'm sorry Toris, if you want to yell at me we can do that outside, I don't think Arthur can take it." I say calmly, glancing at Arthur.

Arthur is shifting uneasily in the bed. Maybe he doesn't like crowds, if you can consider three people a crowd, that is.

Toris seems to have calmed down now and smiles at me gently. "This must be difficult for you." He says. "Do you mind talking outside for a second. I won't yell at you I promise." He chuckles sadly. I can't help but notice Felix's hand resting on Toris's shoulder gently.

"Of course." I answer curtly. But before I leave the room I take a picture out of my wallet, it's a picture of me and Arthur from 6th grade, it's a selfie in the library where phones were forbidden, but I didn't care. I am smiling brightly while Arthur is frowning. I still remember how reluctant he was to do it. "Hold on a sec!" I call out, as I place the picture on Arthurs bedside-table.

We walk out of the room. "Bye Artie!" I tell him before I softly close the door.

Toris and I take seat, while Felix leaves to work somewhere on the first floor.

"Listen Alfie. I know that this is very tough for you, you don't have to pretend like you're OK." Toris says gently.

"I know that. But you see, I just have to be strong for-for him. He is hurt."

"You are hurt as well."

"Aren't we all?" I ask, trying to lighten the mood and failing miserably.

"Yes. We are. I am, but I have-I have people to rely on and I can go to them whenever I want. You rarely ever ask for help and I don't mean to be rude, but you don't have any friends but me. So please let someone help you."

"Are you trying to get me to go to a psychologist?" I joke halfheartedly, I feel really bad about making him worry so much. I'm one hell of a hero, aren't I? Making everyone around me miserable and worrying my friends.

Surprisingly he chuckles "No. I was trying to get you to tell your mom what is going on. I know how good it is for you to be around her, she is really sweet and understanding."

I actually thought about that myself, but I don't want to worry even more people. "I don't know… She might be busy…" I say, trying to make it sound believable.

"Your mom doesn't work. She can't be that busy. That was a lame excuse."

"Your mom is a lame excuse." I counter, again failing to light the mood.

"That doesn't- Oh. Oh, my sweet-You can't be serious."

"In fact, I am not serious, I'm Alfred." I can't help it I need the comedic relief right now.

"Alfred, a dad joke, really? I am disappointed."

"Hi disappointed! I'm dad." I feel way better now.

Toris starts laughing and I join him, glad to be able to laugh. After a while I smirk at him. "You know, you and Felix, you seem pretty close." I imply.

Toris immediately gets red. "We met the first time you collapsed… We are just friends!"

"Ohhh. A nurse, how kinky! I wouldn't have expected that of you." I tease him.

"I dislike you." Toris says.

"That's what friends are for, right?"

"Yeah. I'm glad we talked, and please tell you mom, okay?" He says softly.

I nod. "Will do. Do you think I can stay here?"

"You will have to go home. You are lucky you still have a job tomorrow."

"Yeah. So lucky." I say ironically, but not in a mean way. "I should get some food and sleep!"

….

As I lay on my couch, with my burger and coke, I can't help but wonder if Arthur will ever talk to me again. I need to come up with things that could trigger his memories of me. Something Arthur really likes… Of course! I can read Shakespeare to him, I just have to find my old school books, or borrow some from my mum. Thinking of my mom, I wrote her a message about what happened, since I don't want her to worry to much. I do call her once a week, but I don't want to overdo it, she'll just start worrying, besides she'll be angry…

Now the question is, which Shakespeare play should I read to Artie. Julius Caesar? To much betrayal… Otello? Nah, I never really got that one. Or maybe Romeo and Juliet?

What am I thinking? What was his favourite? Right! Now I know! Hamlet, that's the one he read the first time we met.

….

Going to the hospital after a long day of work, sure isn't easy. As I walk by Felix waves to me and I wave back.

I open the door to Arties room, it's way easier now that I've already done it once. I walk into the room and now that I'm not so nervous I see how bare it really looks. I will have to set up some decorations in here… maybe I'll bring flowers…

I sit down on the seat next to the bed. "Greetings, Artie!" I call out happily, but he shows no sings of caring that I'm there. I try not to be to disappointed. Small steps. I have to take small steps. That's what Toris told me at work, he also told me that there is a psychologist working with Arthur and that it's normal for his personality to have changed.

I take out my phone and start reading.

"To be or not to be, that is the question. Whether it is nobler I the mind to suffer, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.

To die. To sleep-No more! And by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousands of natural shocks that flesh is heir to. 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished"

I look at Arthur who seems to turn slightly towards me, but I'm not sure, it could just be me imagining it.

Suddenly Arthur starts to whisper. "To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there is the rub. For in that sleep of death, what dreams May come. when we have shuffled of this mortal coil, must give us pause." His voice is so silent, I can barely hear him, maybe he doesn't want me to hear him. But, I can hear him and that is making me happy, even though I should be offended that Shakespeare inspired him to talk and not me. Or may Its just muscle memory.

For now, this is good. I need to take small steps after all.

* * *

?

I don't know why I spoke those words, but it seems they are part of me, like I can't forget them. Such beautiful words, considering it is about suicide. It's been some some time already, but this weird illusion won't go away.

I can't talk to it. That will make it seem more real. Again I have no idea who thought me this, but it just feels like I know.

This illusion is really tricky. It's trying to get me with information I forgot about.

Giving me that name. Arthur Kirkland. It's all just one big illusion.

Alfred F. Jones isn't real, no matter how many fake memories are going to flood through my head.

The psychologist, as he calls himself isn't real.

This bed isn't real.

This room isn't real.

It's all just one big illusion that will go away as soon as Foster get's here, with a new type of poison.

The food they are injecting into my body isn't real.

They aren't real.

This wouldn't be the first time this happened, that I get an illusion with a blue eyed guy, telling me he is my friend and that it's all right. Sometimes I liked to believe them, but the disappointment I had to go through isn't worth the rush. No matter how nice these fantasies are, they never last and I have to fear the next torment, so it won't surprise me.

The family this guy talked about isn't real.

Arthur Kirkland isn't real.

* * *

 _Ok, so this chapter was more of a filler and I'm sorry! The thing is this needs to happen, the relationship between Arthur and Alfred will develop slowly, very, very slowly. Usually people would have written something fluffy, but I want it to be realistic and from the research I did, as well as from the people I have asked, a person's character can change completely, after they have been held captive, even if only for a short time. I actually asked someone who was held captive for a very short while and they are still traumatized and have developed depression over the years._

 _If I trigger you, please tell me, but I can assure you I am doing my best to make it realistic._

 _Now, moving on to the way Alfred acts in this chapter. You may be confused by his mood-swings, from crying he just goes to telling dad-jokes. You see, Alfred has developed a very strange character over the years. At the beginning of his life he is this confident guy who wants to be a hero. Once he moves away and gets different friends it starts to change, because of the different environment, but also because now he is old enough to understand what happened to him, which leads to insecurity and fear, that he tries to hind behind a tough shell. By making others feel down, he feels powerful, or to be more precise in control of things. Like most bullies, he only does what he does because he is insecure himself, he is basically that typical foolish teenager. When he finds out Arthur is missing he gets taken back to a time where he was still hoping to be a hero, and he realizes that he still feels that way. But it is too late now. He can't save Arthur, he realizes how powerless he really is and how stupid it was of him to think he was strong. He notices that Arthur would have never disappeared if it wasn't for him and that what he is doing to the kids in school is wrong. He is more of a villain than a hero. Even though Alfred tries to change old habits die hard and his way of handling stress can be very different, he either cries or he hides it behind silly jokes._

 _Alfred is a very two-faced character, and (little spoiler) it runs in the family._

 _I am very sorry that my updates are so irregular at the moment. I have a lot of stuff going on, I had to travel to a funeral and study a lot. I actually still have to study, which is why I am writing this at night._

 _I hope I didn't make to many mistakes, since I didn't proof-read this as much as I would have like to._

 _I hope the chapter is acceptable and I promise there will be more real plot in the next chapter._


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